Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2: For the Record
by WOLFxVSlayer667
Summary: A new force is rising, and the roles of the Task Force 141 and US Army Rangers becomes more important than ever. The lives of billions are at stake, but with the consequences of a global conflict coming into play, will our heroes be ready for the war?
1. Prologue: SSDD

First of all, I'd like to say thank you for all of your positive reviews for Call of Duty: Modern Warfare! I'm so glad that you guys enjoyed it! With the success of that, I'm going to continue my gaming novels with the next chapter of the epic Infinity Ward Trilogy, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2! Unfortunately, this was a very short game so I'm adding in a few chapters and making them far longer than normal to add more to the suspense of the storyline, and I hope you guys enjoy the final product! Tell me what you think in the reviews, but enjoy the next chapter of this epic story!

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2

"For the Record"

Part 1: An Act of Vengeance

Prologue

War is the way of man. It has been a common aspect of human nature that our history has been filled with it to the extent of World Wide conflicts. Both of which nearly destroyed the world. After the wars in the nineteen hundreds, a terrorist force under the command of Saddam Hussein attacked the United States of America in a series of terrorist attacks. In the year 2001, two planes crashed into the Twin Towers in New York City, also known as the World Trade Center. Another plane flew into the Pentagon. Another in a field in Virginia when the passengers made the vain attempt at retaking the plane, but their heroism would forever live on in the lives of Americans. Over three thousand people were killed in the event known as 9/11.

For a war that lasted ten long, horrible years, America fought against the Islamic Extremists known as Al Qaeda. In the year 2011, Saddam Hussein was killed by an American sniper. A new man took the role of leader, but he was quickly executed as well. Al Qaeda was finished, and terrorism was gone. The fighting didn't stop, however. The leader of Saudi Arabia, Al-Fulani, was murdered by a man named Khaled Al-Asad, who wanted to destroy America at all costs. The USMC was sent in to capture Al-Asad before he could do anything to harm the United States, only for Al-Asad to detonate a nuclear warhead in the center of the capital city. Thirty thousand marines were killed in the process.

That's when a team of special ops soldiers in England came into play. The 22nd SAS (Special Air Service) led by Captain John Price went in. He, Gaz, and John MacTavish, more commonly referred to as 'Soap', began to join the war for freedom. They realized after rescuing their friend and informant, Nikolai that Russian Ultranationalists were working with the militants in Saudi Arabia. Khaled Al-Asad was just a tool in the scheme of a man named Imran Zakhaev, a ghost from Price's dark past. After Price killed Al-Asad, the SAS and the remaining USMC forces that hadn't been in Saudi Arabia at the time had joined forces for the first time in history to bring Zakhaev's reign to an end.

They tried to get the information on Zakhaev from his son, Victor, but he killed himself before they could take the information from him. Zakhaev, believing that the SAS and USMC had murdered his son, launched two nuclear missiles at the United States. To prevent over forty million lives from being lost on the Easter Seaboard of the US, they launched an emergency operation into Central Russia to stop the nuclear missiles. They fought their way into the launch facility after penetrating their inner and outer defenses and stopped the missiles in flight.

When they learned that Zakhaev was escaping, they quickly followed him. Price, determined not to let his arch enemy from escaping a second time, gathered Soap, Gaz, and Staff Sergeant Griggs to capture him. Unfortunately, the helicopter that Zakhaev was traveling in destroyed the bridge they were using to escape the thousands of Ultranationalist troops chasing them. In a final standoff against Zakhaev's forces, Griggs and Gaz-two good friends of Soap-were killed by Zakhaev. In Price's pain, he couldn't finish what he'd started fifteen years prior. He passed Soap his gun and Soap finished it, killing Zakhaev.

Three years after they killed Zakhaev, Price and Soap joined forces with the Task Force 141, a group of men from various different races, cultures, and ethnicities were part of the elite team of men and women that kept the world in check. Their team was made up of several men. After a few months, though, they were sent on a mission to a city called Pripyat in Chernobyl, deep in the country of Ukraine. After that horrible mission, Captain Price was lost forever, and Soap has been living down that day ever since. It has been five years since the death of Zakhaev. A new force is rising, and the entire world will need to prepare for the coming storm. This story is about the beginning of the end.

"S.S.D.D"

Day 1-15:30:28 Hours

PFC Joseph Allen

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Fire Base Phoenix, Afghanistan

Five Standard Years after the Death of Imran Zakhaev

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Shepherd said, staring at the pictures, maps, and information pinned around the room. "Five years ago, there was a war. We had fought and bled alongside the Russians. We should have known that they'd hate us for it." He looked at pictures of Russia. Six months ago, the Russian government had created a statue. It was placed in Moscow next to their new airport. He watched a video of the uncovering of the statue. The drape fell away and it showed a man on a horse. He held a long sword as the horse reared up on its hind legs.

The man was raising the sword high into the air; he had an expression of a battle cry was carved into his bearded face. He wore a jacket and baggy pants as well as dark boots. He was missing his left arm. The bottom of the statue read Imran Zakhaev-Hero of the New Russia. Zakhaev was a martyr for the last war, and now Russia practically worshipped him as if he were a god, even after all the horrible atrocities he'd committed. The USMC and SAS went in not only to save their own nations, but to save Russia. It was all for nothing, because now they resented the Americas and Europe alike for doing it.

Loyalist forces that had worked with them did not take to their new 'hero' like the others had. They were ruled out, however, by the new Spetsnaz forces of the Russian army. The five thousand loyalists that had helped were now out of the Russian Army, living everyday lives instead of fighting for their homeland. Hostilities between Russia and America had escalated. Now, they had another country to worry about instead of the militants in Saudi Arabia.

"History, my friends, is written by the victor," Shepherd continued. He chuckled. "And yet here I am, thinking that we'd won. Instead, you can bring down one enemy and they'll just find someone even worse to replace him. Locations change, the rationale, the objective. Yesterday's enemies are now today's recruits. Train them to fight alongside you, and pray that they don't decide to hate you for it as well.

"Well that's just the same shit in a different day. Sergeant Foley, you know what I'm looking for. I want you to keep your eyes open, alright?"

"I've got a new batch hitting the pit today, sir," Foley replied. "I'll send you the best that I find."

"Well ladies, welcome to pull the trigger one-oh-one," Sergeant Foley said to the men in front of him, American and Afghani alike. They seemed to stiffen as he called them 'ladies'. Allen, on the other hand, knew Foley well enough to know that it was an idle name that he called all the new recruits. Sergeant Foley was a tall, African American man. Allen had seen enough of Foley's fighting skills to know that if anyone tried to pick a fight with him would have a hell of a beating-the man was practically a walking tank, and a great leader with that. For those reasons, Allen respected Foley like no other man he'd met in the United States Army Rangers.

In front of him were just about the most unlikely allies that the Rangers had ever seen. For over a decade and a half, they had been fighting militants in Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Iraq, and several other countries in that general area. Now, the very militants they had been fighting against were joining the army. Not necessarily the rangers, mind you, but the army nevertheless. Because of the positioning of Fire Base Phoenix, the Rangers had taken on the glum job of training the local militia.

Allen was supposed to be at the other side of the base at the moment, but Sergeant Foley had asked him to help with a brief training session. Allen, knowing that saying 'no' to Foley was a very bad idea, complied reluctantly. Now, he stood behind Foley in front of twelve militants, who barely even looked as though they could manage an AK47, and that was the simplest assault rifle known to man-literally anyone could learn how to use it!

"Private Allen here is going to show you locals how it's done," Foley continued, motioning to him. "Now I don't want to necessarily offend any of you, but I see a lot of you guys firing from the hip and spraying bullets all over the range. Let me tell y'all: If you don't end up hitting the damn thing, you're going to make yourself look like an ass!" He turned to Allen. He nodded and grabbed an M4A1 and, not aiming, fired at the circular targets in front of him.

He wasted an entire magazine without hitting them. A few bullets scratched the edge of the one of the targets, but none of them hit it directly. He took out the magazine and reloaded it with another, pulling back the pin and clicking off the safety-which for whatever reason always turned back on when he reloaded-and turned with a he-told-you-so expression on his face. Foley nodded and told Allen to 'Show them how the Rangers take down a target'.

Allen didn't say it, but what he should have said was 'Show them how everyone else takes down a target', which would have been true but would have gotten him in trouble with Foley. He crouched down, aimed down the iron sights on the M4A1, and shot at the targets. The targets the Rangers used to use were cut-outs of people, but now they were just circular targets made of metal (which was far more efficient and material saving than wood). He checked and saw that he still had about twenty shots left on his M4A1, not enough to have to take out the magazine and reload it.

"Alright, now do any of you experience with frag grenades?" Foley asked them. They looked around amongst themselves nervously, shuffling their feet. Foley shook his head with a sight. Allen thought to himself, Are you frikin' kidding me? "Allen, show them how it's done." Foley said in embarrassment. He nodded and slung the M4A1 on his back. He opened a small container and took out a small, circular hand grenade.

"This is a frag," Allen said. "You pull this pin at the top, and throw it down the range." He did just that, and after a few moments, the grenade detonated in a miniature explosion. "Frags roll on sloped surfaces, so think twice about throwing one uphill. Also, you have about five seconds before the frag detonates, so if you're thinking about cooking the grenade so an enemy doesn't throw it back at you, keep in mind the distance of the enemy, how far and fast you can throw, and how much time you have before the grenade blows up in your face."

"Well said, Allen," Foley said with a grin at his sarcasm directed at the militants. "Now, head over to the pit. General Shepherd wants to see you run the course." Allen nodded in relief that he didn't need to train these wannabe soldiers anymore. To think they didn't even know what a frag was! How pathetic could you get? In Allen's eyes, there were three types of people: the soldier, the civilian, and the terrorist. Terrorists were absolute idiots who had no life ahead of them so they took the lives of the innocents, which were the civilians. Allen thought it would be best if the civilians became soldiers; after all, they needed more help in the war efforts! Then there were the soldiers, like him, who fought every day of their lives and never even got a simple 'thank you' from anyone. Ungrateful bastards, He thought.

The base was centered in the middle of the desert, so it was blisteringly hot every day and ice cold at night. Now, it was the middle of the day and under Allen's uniform, he was practically sweating to death. A lot of the soldiers were in t-shirts, and he saw a group of Rangers watching two others playing a game of one-on-one basketball. He stopped to watch for a few moments, and then kept moving. The pit was a training area where a Ranger had to take out multiple contacts without hitting civilians and escape in the fastest amount of time as they possibly could. The contacts and civilians were just metal cutouts, but if you hit a civilian, you were penalized. He walked down the steep staircase and entered the entrance of the pit.

In front of him was a table with several different pistols lying on it along with three magazines each. Next to the table were three weapons crates, holding an assortment of Assault Rifles, SMGs, LMGs, and other deadly weapons of war. Sitting on top of the crates was another marine in Allen's squadron. The man was in his mid-twenties, hardly his own age. Corporal Ryan Dunn looked up at Allen, giving him a frown. Allen knew that Dunn hated and resented him. He supposed that he had a right to, but that didn't mean he had to like Dunn. At the rate he was at, Allen would pass Dunn in rank in no time. The tantalizing thought of ordering Dunn around without him asking any questions almost brought a smile to his face. Almost, not this time.

"Hey, Private," Dunn greeted, loading an M9. "Welcome back to the pit. I heard that General Shepherd's going to pull one of our shooters out for some special op, but he's up there in observation. Go ahead and grab a pistol." Allen would have groaned, but he chose not to-it would give Dunn satisfaction, something that he didn't want him to have. He grabbed the Desert Eagle off the table and loaded it, shoving two magazines in his belt. "Remember, switching to your pistol is always faster than reloading."

"Knifing is even faster," Allen said pointedly, getting a glare from Dunn. He shook his head and continued to open the boxes. There were multiple guns inside including the brand new ACR, SCAR-H, MP5K, UMP45, and an M9. Allen grabbed two magazines and the M9. Dunn gave him an inquisitive look but shrugged it off.

"Well, smile for the cameras and don't miss because Shepherd's going to be watching," Dunn said. "Best shooter gets to join his prima donna squad-if that's your thing."

"Why's he choosing one of us," he asked him, loading a mag into the M9. Dunn shrugged.

"I don't know, man," Dunn replied. "I don't know why they don't send us in first either I mean yeah you got the SEALs and shit but come on man, their overrated." Allen rolled his eyes and went in. He drew his M9 pistol and aimed it down the entryway. The pit was a gigantic course set up like a fortress. There were several barricades and pieces of cover around the bottom area, a small building to go through, then another jump back down to take out more contacts and race back to the finish.

As soon as he stepped out of the one meter mark, three targets popped up. He shot them with lightning fast speed, and then sprinted towards the building. Three more popped up, but he made sure not to shoot the middle one as it was a civilian. He jumped over the barricade and five targets showed up at the top of the building and at the windows. Two civilians popped up as well. He shot the contacts, ran inside, cleared that room and ran out of his ammo in his M9. Rather than reloading it, he switched to his Desert Eagle and ran up the stairs. A contact flew in front of him, so he used his knife to melee the target. He cleared the four targets on the roof then jumped down as he reloaded his M9. He quickly cleared the area below and sprinted to the finish. He looked at the digital clock on the wall. He had completed the course in exactly 29.6 seconds flat. He grinned in satisfaction at Dunn. To his disappointment, Dunn was just as ecstatic.

"Now that was impressive, man!" Dunn greeted him. "You just made that course your bitch!"

"Right, well at least I know I can beat you, eh?" Allen replied ungratefully. Dunn flinched as if he was struck by an invisible force, but didn't retaliate. Instead, he handed Allen two magazines for his M9 and four for an M4A1, as well as the Assault Rifle itself.

They walked upstairs and were immediately greeted with an entire convoy of armored vehicles entering the area. The windows were broken and bloodstained, people inside of the vehicles either dead or grievously wounded. Rangers pulled them out of the vehicles and laid them on the sand, medics tending to their wounds. Allen and Dunn both were extremely confused. What was going on? Foley ran up to them.

"Sarge, what's going on?" Dunn asked.

"The convoy's been hit on the far side of the Red Zone!" He replied. "Get to your vehicles, we're moving out!" Allen was eager to go; he would be able to prove his worth to Foley, Dunn, Shepherd, and the entire army of United States Rangers. He clicked off the safety of his M4A1 and got in one of the intact Humvees, anticipating the fight to come.


	2. Ch 1: Team Player

"Team Player"

Day 1-12:42:21 Hours 2016

PFC Joseph Allen

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

The Red Zone, Afghanistan

"_We are the most powerful military force in the history of man," Shepherd said. Everyone in the Humvees could hear his speech. It always went down like this; Shepherd would give a speech, and then meet them at the target area to help them fight. Most Generals would simply tell their troops where to go, practically sending them to their deaths. Shepherd wasn't one of those Generals. He cared about his troops and fought alongside them. He would do just about anything to keep peace, even if it meant risking his own life. "Every single individual fight is our fight. We are the big brother country to all others, so we don't and we won't ever get to sit one out."_

_ Too true; America fought almost every war known. They fought in both of the World Wars, they fought in all wars before that, and would fight in all others as time went on and new history was written. Allen was proud of the fact that he was part of the strongest military force in the world, as well as one of the strongest forces in his country, second only to the USMC. _

_ "The reason for this is that whatever happens over here due to the actions of us or our enemies, it will matter over there in our own country and countless others," Shepherd continued. "Learning to use the tools of modern warfare is the difference between the prospering of your people-our people-and utter destruction. We can't give you or anyone else freedom, but we can give you something equally as valuable: the know-how to acquire it, and that, my friends, is worth more than an entire army base of steel._

_ "Yeah, sure it matters who has the biggest stick but it matters a helluva' lot more who's swinging it. This, the brave men and women of our glorious army, is a time for heroes. This is the time for legends. History is written by the victor, so let us get to work." All of the Rangers yelled out their battle cry, 'Hoorah', as his speech concluded. The Humvee was approaching the Red Zone. The section of Afghanistan had earned its name due to its periodic fighting in and around the city inside of it. A river separated the city from the other side of the country, connected only by a large bridge._

_ The Humvees raced forward, and the driver looked back in the rear-view mirror at the men inside of it to notify them. Allen gripped his M4A1 tighter and a sneer appeared on his lips. The bridge was up ahead as well as ten tanks firing at the city across the river. The bridge was large enough for two Humvees to drive next to each other on it, as well as allow walking 'foot-mobiles' to advance on it, too. _

_ The convoy kept driving forward, but then a massive volley of rocket propelled grenades-also known as RPGs-fired from the top of a building in the city. The rockets crashed into the bridge, annihilating it. Then, more missiles and rockets flew downward, one of them flying directly into their Humvee. _

_ "Hold on!" The driver screamed then the Humvee flew high into the air as the rocket exploded underneath them. The last thing Allen saw was the ground rushing towards him, and the Humvee crashed into the rocky ground, making Allen see nothing but darkness._

There was gunfire around him, and a lot of it. Allen's limbs felt strained as though he had spent hours lifting weights, his bones felt like rubber. He felt queasy, as though he were about to throw up. He held back, though, and forced his eyes open. His vision was hazy, but he saw the Humvee that he had been in only moments before a few meters away, burning. The door he was next to before was thrown open, the seat halfway out. _I must have been thrown free when we crashed,_ thought Allen. He looked around for his M4A1 and found it a few feet away. He forced himself to his feet, shaking and unsteady. He grabbed it and made sure his M9 was still with him, as well as his ammunition, frag grenades, Flashbangs, and radio transmitter.

Everything was there; the M9 had a slight dent on the handle, but it still fired correctly. He was missing a frag, but retained all of his Flashbangs. The small radio transmitter that was mounted on his shoulder was completely useless, smashed to pieces. He tore it off, knowing that it could cause permanent damage to him if it sparked or caught fire in its damaged state. His vision was coming back, and he was beginning to see clearly again. He couldn't, however, find anyone. He saw dead bodies from Rangers that weren't lucky enough to survive the RPG attack, but no one alive. There was a lot of gunfire and he could hear English, but saw no one.

He stumbled through the scattered palm trees, trying to find his way by the sound of the screaming Rangers and gunfire. He thought he could hear Sergeant Foley's voice, but couldn't be too sure. A bullet flew through the trees and smashed into the tree next to him. He immediately crouched down to avoid any more incoming fire, and he was thankful beyond belief that he hadn't lost his helmet. He looked around for anything that he could use for cover, but found none. He instead lied on the ground and crawled forward. It was slow, tedious work and definitely time consuming, but if it saved his life instead of killing him before he got the chance to even so much as fire a single shot and help his comrades.

Eventually, he saw three Rangers taking cover behind a destroyed green car. One of them had his gun on the ground, simply eating a candy bar. Every so often, the two others would pop up and fire back, but they were almost completely ineffective under the amount of fire they were taking. They looked surprised to see Allen sprint up to them, missing bullets by a hair's breadth. He slid over to them and had his back to the car.

"Who are you?" The one in the middle asked, a kid around the age of eighteen. He was wide-eyed and looked terrified; that would have to change.

"Private First Class Allen," he replied. "Where's your Sergeant?"

"He died when the Humvee crashed!" The one on the left side of him replied. Allen glared at the man to the right of the kid, still eating a chocolate candy bar.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Private?" Allen demanded in a stern tone.

"If I'm going to die," he replied through a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm going to die happy." Allen rolled his eyes. _How pathetic_. He thought. He snatched the candy from his hand tossed it on the ground, and ground it into the rock with the heel of his boot. "Hey! I was going to eat that!"

"Grab your gun and get off your lazy ass," Allen growled. "That's an order. Now where are the rest of the men?" He asked. The kid replied.

"They're not far from here," he replied. "About fifty meters behind us, but we can't get through; those militants are pinning us down with heavy fire!" Allen grunted in confirmation. He looked over the edge of the car, nearly getting his head taken off by the gunfire. He swore again and tried to think. How were they supposed to fight an enemy that they couldn't see? His M4A1 only carried a holographic sight attachment and an under slung grenade launcher. The militants were on the other side of the river and could see them, but they couldn't see the militants. After a few minutes of calculating, he finally came up with a plan.

He drew his knife and began to carve a rough map in the sand. He drew a rectangle in the sand and drew a few circles representing the palm trees around them. He drew four X's next to the rectangle and drew a line representing the river fifty meters behind them. He pointed to the X's.

"This is us," he said. "When I give the order, we're going to sprint over here. If you have an extra mag on you, I want you to fire shots back at where they're coming from. They'll take cover behind whatever they've got, giving us the opportunity to link up with the Rangers at the other side, Hoorah?" They repeated the call and they crouched behind him. He held his hand back, three fingers up. As soon as there was a brief pause in the gunfire, he closed it into a fist and they sprinted out of their cover. They fired shots from their rifles back at the men at the other side of the river.

Allen's plan had worked; they had taken cover and stopped firing at them, allowing them to link up with the other Rangers. Ten of them lied on the ground dead, but there were still about fifty still up and firing. Allen saw General Shepherd and ordered the three Privates to get into covering positions and fire back across the river. They nodded and did as they were told as Allen ran up to Shepherd.

"General!" He greeted, saluting his commanding officer. He turned around to look at Allen with an expression of surprise on his face.

"Private Allen?" He asked. Allen nodded in reply. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be fighting!"

"I just got out of a wreck and helped a few rookies get back here," he reported. He didn't want to sound like he was bragging, but he couldn't help but notice that Shepherd looked slightly impressed. It took a lot to impress a guy like him. "What's going on?"

"They destroyed the bridge but we've got a tank up there laying down cross-over to the other side," he replied over the gunfire. "We can't lower it though! We've got too much fire from the other side!"

"I'll take care of it, General! Just get that bridge down!" He nodded and he loaded his pistol. Allen ran up to the shoreline next to Sergeant Foley-he thought he could hear him!-and Corporal Dunn. They looked equally surprised that he was alive, but didn't discuss it. They fired at the never-ending supply of militants across the river, but for every man they took down, more took their place.

Allen clicked on the safety of his M4A1 and switched to his M203 Grenade Launcher. He loaded a grenade from his belt, aimed slightly upward, and fired. The grenade arced upward and smashed into the ground at the other side. The projectile exploded, sending militants flying high into the air as it impacted. Foley and Dunn noticed his plan and did the same, the three loading and firing grenades at the men on the other side of the river.

The large tank at the top of the bridge was no ordinary assault vehicle; instead of a main cannon on the top, it lied down bridges to cross large areas that normal vehicles couldn't traverse on their own. Right now, it was lying down a metal replacement to fill the gap between the two broken parts of the bridge. Suddenly, a whit pick-up truck sped to the other side of the bridge and a large group of militants jumped out, carrying RPGs and AK47s. Allen reloaded his M4A1, switched off the safety, and redirected his fire at the men trying to take out the tank on the bridge. Foley helped him while Dunn continued to lie down fire at the men on the shoreline of the river. The militants were defeated and retreated as soon as the bridge was finished. The tank rolled across it to the other side and parked on the left side of the bridge.

More Humvees drove up on the bridge, waiting for the Rangers to hop in. Allen climbed inside and stood up on the mounted machine gun at the top. Sergeant Foley sat in the seat inside, calling into the radio. Outside, Allen saw the Rangers load into the Humvees while others who couldn't get room stood outside. The massive apartment building at the other side of the river was still crawling with militants-after all that was where they had escaped to, probably to regroup. Sergeant Foley called in the Air Force for a strafing run on the apartment building. The Rangers watched in anticipation for the Warthog that would level the building.

A few of the men below debated on which building it was; after all, it wasn't every day you saw a Warthog destroy an entire building. They finally agreed on the apartment building and everyone watched in anticipation. Allen saw a few moving shapes on the roof, probably more militants to fire RPGs at them on the bridge. One of the Rangers asked about the bombing being a bit danger close for the Air Force, but Allen knew well that Shepherd didn't care about 'danger close'. Then, there was a loud screech of a jet engine and a Warthog flew over the sky. Two missiles flew from the wings and into the city below. There was a massive explosion, the building erupting into flame. Glass, concrete, and steel flew in all directions. The Rangers yelled in amazement as the building began to crumble and crash into the ground. The shockwave that the missiles created shook the bridge and threw dust all over the city and across the river to the Rangers. Their expressions were like those of excited children, something that Allen frowned upon.

The convoy began to move out, driving across the bridge and into the city. Rangers that had already moved into the city were walking on the sidewalks, scanning the area for hostile forces. Foley advised that Allen and everyone else in the convoy to search the roofs for hostiles and to 'stay frosty', which was another way of saying to stay on the alert. He examined the area, but found no one.

"Stay frosty, you guys," Dunn said from the machine gun of the Humvee in front of him. "This is the Wild West."

"Roger that," one of the Rangers in another Humvee replied. Allen rolled his eyes again, but knew that Dunn had a point; after all, there was nothing that they could fully expect in a place like this. He looked around but saw only a few frightened civilians hiding in stores and doorways. The driver of the Humvee at the front of the convoy radioed in to everyone, informing them that he had a visual on three militants on the balcony of a building in front of them. After he confirmed that they were unarmed, Sergeant Foley gave the order to not fire on them.

Dunn pointed out that they were probably scouting them, which Allen thought was extremely obvious, but he reminded Dunn reluctantly that they still couldn't shoot at them. He sometimes questioned the orders of Foley, but never voiced his opinions. If they were obviously militants, why didn't they just kill them? It was no wonder that they hadn't finished their work in Afghanistan yet.

They continued to drive down the streets, but still didn't see anyone else. Just as Allen was about to ask Foley if their Intel was off-and it more often than not was-a bullet flew into the metal hull of the Humvee. One of the Privates asked if anyone could see them, but Dunn, Allen, and every other Ranger couldn't get a fix on where the fire was coming from. Then, a school came into view and Allen saw nearly thirty militants standing on the roof of the building. He spun up the machine gun and tore into the ranks of militants on the roof. After a few moments of everything going right and well, an RPG flew into a Humvee and destroyed it.

"GET US OUF OF HERE!" Dunn yelled. "DRIVE, DRIVE!" The drivers didn't need to be told twice as they raced into the streets of the city. There was more militants than they thought, however, and the city was packed full of them. RPGs fired across the streets, bullets flying dangerously close to them in their race to get out of the kill zone. Then, Allen saw a man with an RPG on the roof. He and Dunn fired at him, but it was too late. The RPG flew into Dunn's Humvee and sent it flying into Allen and Foley's. Luckily, they made it out of the Humvees alive, but just barely. Bullets flew at them, two of the Rangers getting killed in the crossfire as they worked their way inside of the building next to them.

Allen heard creaking on the wooden floor above him and motioned to everyone that there were more militants upstairs. Foley ordered them to get away from the windows and secure the top floor, and Allen took point. He threw a Flashbang inside. Flashbangs were small canisters that sent out a blinding beam of light and a loud, high pitched explosion that blinded and deafened anyone within range of it. The militants were in disarray from the Flashbang, allowing Allen to quickly take care of the men upstairs. They raced to the door on the other side but again took fire from the back of the school.

"Hunter 2-1, are you still there?" A voice came over Foley's radio.

"Roger that, this is Hunter 2-1," Foley replied. "Who is this?"

"This is Hunter 2-3," the voice said, panicked. "We're pinned down at the front of the school, can you provide assistance from your position, over?"

"Affirmative, 2-3," Foley replied. "Just hang on! Men, let's go! We've got to take the heat off of Hunter 2-3, Hoorah?" They returned the call and they sprinted to the back of the school, dodging gunfire on their way in. The main hallway was a battle zone, pictures that children had drawn lying on the ground with bullet holes through them. Desks and chairs were stacked up for the militants to use as cover.

Allen threw a frag grenade and cleared out the area ahead, allowing their small team to advance forward. As they ran upstairs and rounded another corner, they saw the militants firing from the windows, oblivious to the Rangers behind them. They killed them and continued on through the school, eliminating any militants that they found blocking their way. Hunter 2-3 called back, relieved and appreciative of Hunter 2-1's assistance. Allen wished that they got more than that, but he couldn't exactly expect a whole lot from men in the Rangers. Dunn, being quite hateful towards school, didn't much care for the damage he 'accidentally' inflicted on the papers inside. Foley disapproved as well as Allen, thinking his actions as childish.

When they finally reached the end of the town, they were met with heavy resistance near the tunnel. They pushed forward and managed to lead the militants into a trap. Rangers on the other side cut into their ranks and finally, at long last, the Red Zone was cleared. Allen felt weary and tired, but still ready for a fight when they got to the landing zone behind the buildings. General Shepherd was waiting for them.

"Gentlemen, great work on taking the town!" He praised, looking directly as Allen when he said it. "Private Allen, you're taking orders from me from now on. I'll brief you on the chopper, let's go." Allen turned back to Foley in confusion. Foley nodded with a smile of congratulations, while Dunn grinned with a triumphant one. Allen was just as happy; after all, he didn't have to see Dunn again!


	3. Ch 2: Orientation

"Orientation"

Day 3-15:29:07 Hours 2016

PFC Joseph Allen

Task Force 141

Task Force HQ, Washington

"_So what's this all about?" Allen asked as he climbed into the helicopter behind Shepherd. They sat in separate seats across from each other so they could openly talk. The helicopter took off, throwing dust and sand from the ground in all directions as the helicopter lifted into the air. _

_ "Private Allen," Shepherd began. "Have you ever heard about the war five years ago against the Russian Ultranationalists?" Allen knew, of course. Who didn't? They had lost thirty thousand marines because of that damned war, so not knowing about it was like saying that you forgot your first name. Allen nodded a reply and Shepherd continued. "They're still active and dangerous, and I don't want another tragedy like the one in that year. I've been searching for a new man to fill in an empty slot in my personal Task Force, and I think that you have what it takes to join them."_

_ Allen's eyes widened in astonishment that of all people, Shepherd would pick him to join his Task Force. Only the best of the best could join it due to the amount of dangerous, life threatening missions that they took on. It was a surprise that Allen was chosen for this job. It wasn't a surprise, however, that they were giving him a new rank and position so soon. _

_ "It's going to be a difficult job, Private," he said. "It's not for the faint of heart to join the force. Do you accept it?"_

_ "Y-yes, sir," Allen stammered in his astonishment. "I accept my new position, and honor your decision." Shepherd smiled and lit a cigar as the helicopter lifted high above Afghanistan._

The building didn't look remarkable in any sort of way save for the insignia on the glass doors in front. It was a blue circle. In the center, there was a sword, its hilt up in the air with a skull resting on top of it. A large pair of wings were raised proudly in the air, sprouting from the sides of the sword. At the bottom of the insignia were blue letters that read Task Force 141. Shepherd took out a card and slid it into the control panel on the right side of the door. The light at the top blinked green and the doors slid open, admitting them inside of the facility.

Inside, there were pictures lining the walls of historical people and battles in American History. Shepherd began to tell Allen how the Task Force 141 was formed. Back at the end of the first World War, one hundred forty one of the best soldiers in the marines, navy, and US military came together to form an elite team of warriors to keep the world in check. What no one really knew was that America wouldn't have won World War II without the Task Force 141, and ever since they've been helping the country stay on its feet.

Allen didn't care much about history. After all, it was all in the past and nothing that mattered now that it was the present, but even he had to admit it was impressive that the Task Force 141 have accomplished so much in the past seventy years of its alleged existence. They took an elevator down to the lower area and into a large training facility. They walked into the observation deck of the facility where a man was standing, looking down into the main facility. He turned around as Shepherd and Allen approached. He had a thick beard, Mohawk, and vertical tattoos that ran down his face.

"Greetings, General Shepherd," he said in a thick British accent. "What brings you here?"

"Orientation, Captain," Shepherd replied. "For me and for him; we both need to meet your squad." He nodded and turned to Allen.

"So, you're the new yank for the squad?" He asked him. Allen didn't know what a 'yank' was, but he nodded nevertheless. He smiled. "That's good; we need a man who can fight well. We've got men from all different races, cultures, ethnicities-it doesn't matter where they're from, but they're valor and heroism in battle. I'm assuming that you've shown one or both beforehand?"

"He has," Shepherd answered for him. "Trust me; he's the right man for the job." He nodded and extended his hand to Allen, who shook it respectively. With that, they walked down from the observation deck and into the training facility. There were five men in the training facility, all of them stopping their training session to look at the three men approaching them. Immediately, they ran into a line and saluted General Shepherd as he walked up to them.

Allen examined the men in the line. They all wore similar uniforms save for one at the end of the line, who wore dark clothes and a mask with a skeleton's mouth where the lower part of his face was. He wore dark sunglasses, so his face was entirely hidden from sight, though he could just barely see a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him, but then they disappeared behind the lenses.

"Captain, do you mind introducing us?" Shepherd asked. He nodded. "Alright men, this is the new yank joining the squad today. His name's Private Allen and I want you all to introduce yourselves to him and General Shepherd, alright?" They nodded and the one at the far right side moved up.

"I'm Herald Johnson," he said extending his hand to Allen. "You can call me Scarecrow." He nodded and shook his hand. Next were Ozone, Worm, Roach, and the one with the mask, Ghost. The Captain introduced himself as John MacTavish, and he returned their greetings by introducing himself respectively, despite the fact that Shepherd had already introduced him to the team.

"Alright, well we'd love to stay and chat," MacTavish said. "But Roach and I have to go." Roach nodded and grabbed an ACR, following Soap.

"What's the mission?" Allen asked. "I could help if you'd like."

"We're getting an ACS module, nothing too special."

"Your feet going to be a bit wet?"

"More like freezing mate," Roach said with a smile.


	4. Ch 3: Cliffhanger

"Cliffhanger"

Day 2-7:35:55 Hours, 2016

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

Tian Shan Range, Kazakhstan

"_So, how do I look?" Allen asked. He wore a dark outfit with red trimming. On his chest was an insignia of the Russian Spetsnaz, and his body was now tattooed with several different pictures. He didn't know how all of this was necessary, but he would do whatever it was that Shepherd needed him to do. After all, if Shepherd was giving him an assignment that no one else but he and the CIA knew about, it was even better._

_ "Just like one of the bad guys," Shepherd replied, examining Allen. His head was shaved and dyed red-orange instead of its usual black, and his face slightly reconstructed to look more in the resemblance of a Russian but still retaining the American look. "Perfect for your under cover assignment."_

_ "So this 'Makarov' man is the prize?" Allen asked._

_ "Makarov is definitely no prize, Allen," Shepherd said with an edge to his voice. "He's a whore; a mad-dog killer for the highest bidder. He doesn't flinch at torture, human trafficking, or genocide. He isn't loyal to a flag, country, or any set of ideals. He trades blood for money-he's going to be your new best friend. After the mission is finished and the 141 bring in that downed ACS, you're taking a field trip to Russia. You will be a hero, and you'll be remembered for what you do there."_

Roach shivered, hugging himself tightly. Even with his heavily insulated winter gear, he was chilled to the bone. Next to him was Captain MacTavish, crouched on the icy ledge on the side of the mountain. Snow flurries blew around them, freezing them; even MacTavish's beard was beginning to freeze over. He was smoking a cigar, blowing smoke into the air. Roach wasn't the kind of person who smokes, but at that moment, he wished he had one as well if only to keep himself warm. MacTavish didn't seem to be cold at all, but that was probably due to his iron will and strength. Roach was ashamed of the few people in England who said they all had iron will, but British men like he and Ghost still couldn't match MacTavish's strength.

Roach told himself not to look down over and over again, but the more he told himself not to, the more he wanted to. Eventually, he did and peered carefully over the edge of the icy ledge. They were about thirty thousand feet above sea level, and the cliff face was extremely steep. The jagged ice and rock below looked forbidding to Roach, and he quickly snatched his ice picks to steady himself on the ledge, digging them into the wall of ice behind him. A few minutes later, they heard the roaring of a jet engine and they looked up from their ledge. An F-22 fighter jet flew over them and deeper into the mountains. MacTavish flicked the cigar over the edge and looked at Roach.

"Break's over, Roach," he said, standing up. "Let's go." Roach nodded and slowly stood up. The ledge was barely ten inches in length, his toes hanging over the edge. They slowly slid along the side of the mountain, being as careful as they possibly could so as to not fall over the edge. One misstep would send them to an icy grave, instantly killing them before they could be saved. As the ledge began to thin, MacTavish held up a hand for Roach to stop. He unhooked the ice picks and ordered Roach to stay there until he said it was okay to follow.

He dug the ice picks into the mountainside, slowly working his way upward. The spikes on the bottom of his boots allowed him to have better stability and balance while scaling the mountain. Roach looked up at him the entire way up, but a few meters ahead, MacTavish stopped to look back at him.

"The ice is good, follow me," he said. "Watch out for this patch to the left-it doesn't look completely stable." Roach nodded and dug the ice picks into the mountain, following Captain MacTavish upward. The mountain was extremely large and they spent the better part of the hour trying to scale it. At the top was an area where several mountains came together and formed a natural section of flat land that the base was stationed on. Inside of that base was an American ACS module that has malfunctioned and landed in the mountains. The module contained literally everything that was useful to the Americans but could be dangerous in the hands of the enemy. Hostilities between the Middle East and America had risen extensively over the past five years, particularly the relations between the United States and the Russian Republic. They couldn't allow that ACS module to remain there or else they would know all of the secrets of the American military, and with Russia proving to be hostile towards Americans, that information could prove to be fatal in their hands. It was definitely the kind of job for the 141.

After much climbing, they finally reached another outcrop near the top of the mountain. They collapsed on top of it for a few minutes before standing back up and looking around for a place to climb from. MacTavish-having the best sight of the two-spotted another ledge a few meters away from their outcrop. MacTavish studied the ice of the ledge and looked back at Roach, who was trying to find another way to climb up the mountain.

"Roach, there's a place right here," he said, beckoning him to come over. He squatted next to him, looking at the ledge. "That ledge leads right into the mountains, so we won't have any more trouble with climbing after we scale it." He stood up and rolled his shoulders, walking back and looking out over at the ledge. "Good luck, mate. I'll see you on the far side." With that, he sprinted across the outcrop and jumped to the ledge, digging the ice picks inside of the ice. Roach looked over the edge and saw MacTavish was still there, the ice sturdy and holding him up. He looked at Roach and beckoned to him to make the jump.

Roach stood at the back of the outcrop, ran, and jumped to the ledge. He dug his ice picks into the ledge, but began to slide down. He panicked and tried to dig the ice into another part of the ledge, but the ice wasn't holding and he was sliding farther and farther down. MacTavish yelled to Roach, telling him to hold on. As if I was thinking of letting go! Roach thought. Suddenly, the ice under his right ice pick falling away to the bottom of the mountain, leaving him hanging dangerously on the ledge by one arm. He threw his right hand up to hold onto his ice pick with both hands. He would have dug the other ice pick into the ice, but he couldn't reach a place for him to dig it in to.

Suddenly, the ice gave and he was falling down the mountain. A strong hand grabbed his wrist and Roach looked up to see Captain MacTavish holding on to him, his other hand holding the ice pick that was still dug inside of ice ledge. He swung Roach over to the ledge and onto some good ice. This time, his ice picks had stayed firm inside of the ice, allowing him to continue the climb. After another half our, they finally scaled the mountain and reached a part of the mountain where they could walk on their own two feet. They looked around and couldn't see any other high mountains, so they hooked their ice picks to their sides and took out their ACR Assault Rifles. They were suppressed and had red dot sights for accuracy and stealth, but there was a third experimental object on its side. The object was called a heartbeat sensor, a small blue monitor that located the heartbeats of nearby life forms. MacTavish had set the sensors to tag the two of them as dark blue dots so they didn't accidentally shoot each other. All other dots-being white in color-were dubbed as either animal life or another contact.

MacTavish slung the ACR to his back, however, and instead took out an M21 EBR Sniper Rifle with an attached variable zoom scope and heartbeat sensor. It too, was suppressed. They stalked along the mountain ridge and deeper into the range, eliminating any contacts they saw. The first two were standing outside of the runway. As an F-22 fighter came in landing, they knew that they couldn't shoot them until it passed lest it see them and notify the rest of the base. They fired and eliminated the two Ultranationalist Russian contacts and continued further into the base. The snow picked up and then became a full force blizzard, the storm blocking all visibility save for a few meters in front of them.

MacTavish climbed up the mountain a bit more and told Roach to continue on into the base. The plan was that MacTavish would provide over-watch with a thermal scope and take out the outer defenses while Roach made his way to the main runway and plant C4 at the fueling station. That way, the base would be effectively destroyed when an avalanche came through triggered by the explosion. Roach was like a ghost in the blizzard, so unless he was very close to the guards, they would never see him.

As he continued further into the base, the amount of enemies became more abundant to the point where 'going in silent' wasn't a complete option. He was only equipped with four magazines for his ACR as well as one for his suppressed USP .45 pistol, so when he picked up an enemies' three-round-burst FAMAS, with three extra magazines from a dead contact, he wasn't at all fazed. MacTavish, on the other hand, wasn't too happy about it.

"You've got to be careful about picking up an enemy's weapon, Roach," he advised on their short-range radio link. "Any unsuppressed firearms are sure to attract a lot of attention." Roach rolled his eyes, but MacTavish wouldn't see him do it, nor could he know. As he hid behind a building across from the runway, a car carrying six Ultranationalists inside drove past him. He aimed his ACR at the vehicle, but it didn't notice him through the snow of the blizzard. When he made it to the fuel station, he took a pack of C4 from his utility belt and strapped it around one of the fuselages.

"Hold up, Roach," MacTavish warned. "You've got about twenty plus foot mobiles heading your way, and there's a lot of activity around the tower. I can't be sure but I think they may have BMPs, so I'd avoid that area. I'm Oscar Mike to the hangar, out." He complied and continued on to the main hangar. The term MacTavish used 'Oscar Mike' was another way of saying 'On the Move'. They used many code words so that if anyone who could speak English was listening in on their coms, they wouldn't know what they're saying. If they didn't get that ACS module, however, that wouldn't matter-the enemy would literally know everything, even their code words.

As he worked his way back across the runway, he felt a rumbling and quickly ran behind an F-18 bomber, hiding behind its landing gears and looking out on the runway. A BTR Brone Transporter tank rumbled down the runway. Its massive machine gun surveyed the area, a light passing over his area. Luckily, the Ultranationalist manning the machine gun didn't see him, and he was able to sprint away and to the back door of the hangar. A shape moved in front of him and he aimed his ACR into the face of Captain MacTavish, who was aiming his M21 EBR at his.

They lowered their weapons when they realized who they were and MacTavish broke the uncomfortable silence by asking, "Took a scenic route, eh?" Roach nodded with smile. "Well then, let's go." He lead the way through the back door of the hangar but told him to hold up when he saw a soldier walk in the hall in front of him. He strapped his M21 to his back alongside his ACR and drew his knife from its sheathe. He sprinted forward, slammed the man into the lockers next to him, shoved him to the ground, and sank the knife into his neck, killing him instantly. Blood began to ooze out onto the ground, forcing Roach to pick his way over it. In the center of the hangar was a large, battered piece of machinery. The two walked up to it examining the massive thing.

"What is this?" Roach asked in wonder.

"One of the satellites from low orbit," MacTavish replied. "Its engines malfunctioned and it crashed nearby. Unfortunately, this compartment is empty which means that they've already located the module." He looked around the shelves in worry but found nothing save for a blow torch. He took that and set to work tearing into the satellite. "Go upstairs and look for the module; I'm going to see if the yanks hid it deeper in the infrastructure of this satellite instead of the compartment."

Roach nodded and raced up the stairs into the main control room. At the end, connected to a computer's hard drive, was a small box about the size of the compartment in the satellite. He picked up the ACS module and unplugged it. He took his USP .45 out and shot the hard drive and the monitor several times to make certain that there was no way that they could recover the data stored on the ACS. That was when he heard a loud clang from the central hangar. He looked at his heartbeat sensor and saw the blue dot that represented MacTavish, but now there were twenty whit dots right in front of it.

"Roach, I've been compromised," MacTavish whispered into the radio. "Keep a low profile and hold your fire." Roach complied and, crouched over, walked to the doorway to the control room.

"This is Major Petrov!" A voice yelled from the bottom of the hangar. "Enemy infiltrators, we have captured one of your comrades! We know you are up there, come out now or we will kill your comrade!" Every fiber of Roach's being wanted to open fire on them and save MacTavish, but he knew that was a death sentence for the both of them, especially if the BTR was outside of the hangar, its machine gun aimed at them both. Instead, he stayed hidden. "Very well; I will give you five seconds to come out before I execute your comrade! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO!" Roach whipped out from behind the door, a detonator in his hand.

"ONE!" He yelled, and then pulled the trigger. Behind the men, the runway erupted into flame, causing them to turn around and see what happened. MacTavish and Roach raised their ACRs and shot at the men in the hangar.

"Roach, stay close and hug the walls!" MacTavish ordered. "We'll use their MIGs as cover until we reach the tarmac to the southeast!"

"Roger that!" Roach yelled, firing more shots at the men below. He hopped over the railing and followed MacTavish as he sprinted out of the hangar and towards the runway. One of the Russian MIGs was burning from the explosion at the fuselage. Roach threw a frag grenade at the MIG, causing it to explode in a massive ball of flame. They ran outside of their cover and past the destroyed MIG, taking AK47 fire from a building to their right. They shot back, suppressing their attempts at hitting them. Finally, Roach ran out of ammunition and took out the FAMAS he picked up, firing the short controlled bursts at the men firing at them.

Two snowmobiles flew into the area, forcing Roach and MacTavish to switch their fire to the drivers and the passengers carrying assault rifles. Once they were out of the way, they sprinted to the tarmac and slid down the snowy hill down to the shed at the bottom. Six more troops came over the edge, firing down at them as they tried to escape down the mountain. It was many miles, though, and it was hardly likely that they could sprint the entire way to the rendezvous point at the other side of the mountain.

Two more snowmobiles came down, and raced behind the shed. MacTavish unhooked his ice picks and waited. As soon as they came near, he shoved the picks into the driver's chest and the other one into the passenger. The second snowmobile flew past, but Roach quickly cut them down as they came to a halt. Suddenly, Roach had an idea. He hopped on the driver's seat of the snowmobile the men MacTavish had killed had been on and revved up the engines.

"MacTavish!" Roach called. "Come on, we can use this to escape!" He nodded and climbed on behind him, loading another clip into his own ACR-his M21 had run out of ammunition. Roach pulled back on the throttle and raced down the mountain. A Russian Hind flew overhead, firing its machine guns at them. The snowmobile was far faster and maneuverable than the pilot had anticipated, though, and they were able to move out of the way and get past them. As they drove across a lake, the Hind fired the rockets at the ice, shattering it. Roach pinned the throttle, just staying ahead of the rapidly cracking ice.

Captain MacTavish turned around, aimed, and fired at the cockpit of the Hind. The bullets flew into the cockpit window and killed the pilot and copilot. The Hind spun out of control as the corpses slumped against the controls, and it crashed into the mountain, the rotating propellers smashing into the rock and ice and turning the Hind into a burning ball of flame. The blackened, smoking wreckage crashed into the ice and sank into the lake.

The snowmobile flew over the hill and then traveled down the mountain. That was when Roach noticed that there was a large gorge separating the two mountains. The mountain they had to rendezvous at with the rest of the 141 was across the gorge, nearly two hundred feet across.

"We're not going to make it!" Roach yelled.

"Just keep that throttle pinned at let me worry about the details!" MacTavish yelled. "Kilo 6-1, we're taking a lot of incoming fire but we're almost to the LZ, standby!"

"Roger that, Bravo 6," the helicopter pilot replied. "We're getting close to bingo fuel, so make it fast!" The gorge got closer and closer, but Roach pinned the throttle as MacTavish had ordered. Then, the snowmobile flew over the gorge, riding the empty air below them. Roach couldn't see the bottom, making his heart flip over. The snowmobile touched the ground and they were speeding up the hill again. As they made their way to the top, a Chinook landed and Roach pulled over. He was breathing heavily from the massive jump and the entire rest of the mission, but MacTavish looked proud of him. He brought his fist to his chest and nodded to him. Roach returned the gesture and climbed on board.

"Alright, they have the ACS!" The pilot yelled as they and the rest of the 141 climbed aboard the Chinook. "Let's get out of here!"


	5. Ch 4: No Russian

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS VERY DISTURBING AND SOME READERS MAY FIND THE CONTENT EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING. READER DISCRESION IS ADVISED. **

"No Russian"

Day 3-8:40:53 Hours, 2016

PFC Joseph Allen AKA Alexei Borodin

CIA – Central Intelligence Agency

Zakhaev International Airport

Moscow, Russia

"_The rest of the Task Force 141 brought in the ACS module, Allen," Shepherd said. Allen, wearing his Spetsnaz clothing, stood in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back as the General talked to him. "Two men brought down an entire base and I ask much more from you now."_

_ "I understand, sir," Allen replied._

_ "Do you?" Shepherd asked. Allen didn't know how to reply to him, so instead stayed silent and waited for Shepherd to continue. "Yesterday, you were a soldier on the front lines but today, the front lines are history. Uniforms are relics. The war rages absolutely everywhere and no matter how much we wish to stop it, there will be casualties. This man, Vladimir Makarov, is waging his own war and he has no rules or boundaries. You don't even want to know what it cost us to put you next to him, son."_

_ "I have a good idea, sir," Allen said. "I'll perform to the best of my abilities."_

_ "You better as hell do so," Shepherd said. "It will cost you a piece of yourself, son. It will cost absolutely nothing compared to everything that you'll save."_

"Remember, Alexei," Makarov said as he and his four associates began to unzip their suit cases and bags, taking out weapons. Each of them was armed with frag grenades, Flashbangs, large M240 Light Machine Guns, and a weapon of their choice. Along with Makarov, Allen chose an M4A1 Assault Rifle, though he equipped it with an under slung M203 grenade launcher. He strapped the rifle to his back and cocked back the pin on his M240, loading it with the chain of bullets inside of its massive magazine. He had four more of them, giving him plenty of ammunition for this mission.

The mission itself made Allen nervous. Perhaps he was even hesitant to carry out the mission directive. These were not traits that made up Private First Class Joseph Allen. He was always confident in what he did and what his superiors told him to do. This however; this wasn't a war he was ready to fight. This wasn't a war that he wanted to fight. He still didn't understand why Makarov insisted on pinning a small insignia of the American flag on their chests, but it was all part of his plan. Vladimir Makarov was a pale skinned Russian man with black hair that looked as though it had never been combed in his life, just thrown around. He had dark, malicious eyes that made Allen nervous.

His other Russian associates were just as intimidating as Makarov himself, if not worse. They were like a horrible pack of rabid wolves, attacking each other from time to time, threatening each other with death; what did Shepherd put Allen into? Either way, he had to do what Makarov said, or he'd be seen as the enemy. He saw firsthand what Makarov did to people he didn't trust. Three days with him and he was already scared to death of the man. He intended on completing this mission in full, then banging out and never committing an atrocity such as the one was about to do right now ever again. He had to gain Makarov's trust; he just hoped that he would never have to do something like this again.

"No Russian." Makarov growled. The door of the elevator opened and the five men stepped out. They wore tuxedoes and other suits with bulletproof vests underneath them, making them look larger than they were. Allen took a deep breath and hardened his heart. In front of them was a security checkpoint that led in and out of the Zakhaev International Airport. At least one hundred innocent people, civilians of all ages-men, women, grandparents, and even children, were standing in the crowd. _I can't do this,_ Allen thought. I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm not the man they think I am, and I won't stand for what they're going to make me do. He had to, though, or he would meet death. It was an direct order from General Shepherd to do whatever it was that Makarov told him to without objection, but Shepherd couldn't have known about this.

If he had the choice, Allen would have turned the gun on his so-called 'comrades' right now and kill them all, but they were watching him too closely. Makarov was too heavily defended from all sides. There was no stopping the inevitable. He hated himself for what he was going to do. The people were talking amongst themselves, even some of the security guards were laughing as they shared jokes amongst themselves and the civilians. He stole himself and turned his heart to stone, then raised the M240 and pulled the pin just as Makarov and his men were doing with their machine guns. The locking and loading of the machine guns was loud enough to gain the attention of hundreds of people in the crowd.

They turned to look at the five of them nervously. The security guards reached for their pistols and other weapons, but it was too late. They opened fire into the crowd simultaneously, the bullets tearing through the flesh and bone of the horrified civilians in the airport. They screamed in terror as they shot through them. Parents tried to protect their children, husbands trying to protect their wives, the security guards trying to protect all of them. None of it helped. They tried to run but their bullets flew into them, killing them before they could make an escape.

The entire airport was screaming now as they walked forward. The metal detectors buzzed as they walked through them. Security guards ran through the office to the right, but Makarov turned and fired into their ranks, killing them as they came out. Allen pointed at a row of seats where civilians were standing, raising their hands in surrender. It tore at his heart for them to do that, because they weren't at the airport to take prisoners. Their bodies slumped to the ground, blood staining the ground as their lifeless bodies hit the ground.

"Up the stairs, go!" Makarov ordered. The escalators had stopped working; either that or someone shut them down to buy time for the civilians. They ran up the stairs and shot at the civilians as they were running away. They tried to drag away their wounded, only for both of them to be killed. Others tried to wake up friends and family that would never wake up again, tears of anguish streaming down their faces. They killed them all, leaving no survivors. Allen felt sick to his stomach as they reached the end of the airport. Two guards were inside of an elevator, coming up to face the men. Allen threw frag grenade inside of the elevator. One dived out and was immediately cut down by their machine guns. The other wasn't fast enough and the grenade detonated, killing him and sending the elevator crashing to the floor. They fired over the railing at hundreds of more civilians until the airport was silent, the stench of blood, gore, and dead bodies filling the air. The flight list changed all of its status' to 'delayed' as they ran outside of the airport. Helicopters and Russian police and Special Forces raced into the area outside where the airplanes were parked.

"They're right on time," Makarov said. "Everyone, check our weapons and ammo."

"I've waited a long time for this," one of Makarov's men said with a horrible smile. Makarov laughed.

"Haven't we all." It wasn't a question. Allen knew that he wasn't part of that; he never wanted this or anything closely related to it. They raced into the area where the planes were parked. "This is for Zakhaev." Makarov snarled. Russian armed forces streamed into the area carrying rifles and riot shields. They mowed through their ranks, killing all of them. _Murderers_. Allen thought. _We're murderers of innocent people. I've been told my entire life to protect the innocent, but now I'm going against everything I swore to fight against. I've become the enemy._

The fight was short-lived, three of Makarov's men getting killed in the process. They made their way into the bowels of the airport and into a storage garage. An ambulance sat there, but Makarov ordered them to hold their fire. A man in a bulletproof vest opened the door.

"Good, you have made it," he said in Russian. "You have sent a strong message with this attack, Makarov."

"Message?" Makarov asked as he let himself get pulled inside. "No. That was no message." He took Allen's hand and hoisted him up into the ambulance. Then he saw Makarov pull out an M9, bring it to Allen's face, and fired, killing him immediately. Allen's body fell to the ground, blood pouring from the bullet hole in his head. "This is a message. To think that the American thought he could deceive us was pathetic. When they find that body, all of Russia will cry for war."


	6. Ch 5: Takedown

"Takedown"

Day 4-15:08:25 Hours, 2016

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

"_Sir, I've got a weird message from someone named 'Nikolai'," Roach said over his shoulder. He was staring at his computer monitor, looking at the messages on it. One of the contacts sending him a message read NIKOLAI. "This is what the message says: I can't find a secure channel so get Soap to call. Who's Soap, sir?" Captain MacTavish walked over to him and read the email from the computer. He nodded and got a cell phone. At the bottom of the message was an encrypted code with the numbers to Nikolai's secure link embedded inside. MacTavish had seen enough of Nikolai's messages to know how to decrypt them and understand what they said._

_ "Hello?" A Russian man answered on the other end of the line._

_ "Nikolai, it's Captain MacTavish," he replied. "Sergeant Sanderson got your email; what do you need?"_

_ "Soap, it is good to hear from you my friend!" Nikolai said. MacTavish smiled._

_ "It's just MacTavish now, mate," he told Nikolai. "No one calls me that anymore. Now, what do you need?" Nikolai was one of Captain MacTavish's good friends he'd met from the war five years ago. Before Captain Price had died, Nikolai was under cover in the Ultranationalist camp in Russia, feeding him classified information on their whereabouts. He'd helped them throughout the war until they finished it; MacTavish hadn't heard from Nikolai for over five years now, and it was great to hear from his old friend again._

_ Unfortunately, his old friend's voice began to sober up as he told MacTavish about a mass tragedy that had occurred only an hour and a half ago in Moscow, Russia. At first, MacTavish couldn't believe what he said. Five years ago, there was another mass tragedy when thirty thousand marines were killed when a nuclear warhead was detonated in Saudi Arabia, killing them all. This, however, was nothing like killing soldiers. This was madness; it was insanity! MacTavish told Nikolai he had to be mistaken, but he only replied that he wished that he was. Roach stared at Captain MacTavish, perplexed. What was so terrible that he would be reacting like this? To preoccupy himself, he stared at the code at the bottom of Nikolai's email and tried to figure out how MacTavish deciphered it. Unfortunately, Roach had never been good at math or with any numbers for that matter and nearly flunked out of school several times because of it, so he never came close to figuring out what the code was. _

_ "Are you sure?" MacTavish asked, his voice a barely audible whisper._

_ "Da, I am," Nikolai replied grimly. "I didn't want to have to show you this; look at the Sergeant's email." As if on cue, Roach noticed a new email on his monitor. MacTavish nodded and he opened it. There was an embedded link inside of it. Roach clicked it and it came up with black and white video footage. It showed about one hundred civilians standing in an airport, talking, laughing, parents scolding children. Roach and MacTavish didn't know what to make of it, and then five figures stepped out of an elevator. They carried light machine guns in their hands. They had assault rifles and shotguns strapped to their backs for secondary weapons. They wore bulletproof vests on top of tuxedoes and other suits. _

_ The one in the middle, a man with pale skin and unkempt black hair raised his fist and they lifted their guns. Immediately, they opened fire, bullets tearing into the crowd. The screaming of terrified civilians-men, women, even children, were murdered from the gunfire. There were several more video clips following it, the screams of terror echoing in Roach's mind as he watched the horrible video. At the end where several photos of dead civilians and the faces of the people who'd so ruthlessly killed them as well as a photo of a vaguely familiar face appeared. _

_ The man had short, dyed hair, a mustache, and tattoos that stretched halfway up his neck. He wore a dark tuxedo that was stained with blood. A bullet hole lay in the center of his forehead, leaking blood onto the ground. Despite the mutilation done to the man, Roach could recognize him. He'd seen him the very day that General Shepherd had come to introduce them at orientation._

_ "Allen," MacTavish whispered. "They killed Allen." That was when Roach noticed something that MacTavish didn't. He pointed out a small flag under the insignia of a deformed Spetsnaz sign. It was the American flag. Captain MacTavish's eyes widened in horror as he saw the flag. "Roach, get me a line to Shepherd." Roach nodded and typed madly into the keyboard._

_ "The Russians ain't going to let this massacre go unanswered," Ghost said as he examined the videos and photos. He, MacTavish, Roach, General Shepherd, and several other members of Task Force 141 stood in the room. "This is going to get bloody."_

_ "Too late, mate," MacTavish said. "Now in the eyes of the world, they're the victims. No one is going to say a word when the Russians club every American they reach."_

_ "Makarov was one move ahead," Shepherd said. "He knew Allen was an American from the start and has left thousands of corpses at his feet."_

_ "Well that's just great because no one else but us know that it was Makarov's op, not ours," Ghost said, crossing his arms. His skull mask looked intimidating as he looked around at everyone, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. "That means our credibility died with Allen, and I don't think any of us know how we can give the world the proof that America needs."_

_ "I think I've got an idea," Shepherd said, then typed in a few keys on the computer. He scanned one of the pictures and singled in on a single bullet shell. He compared it on a shell tracker and they waited impatiently as it scanned other similar bullets. Finally, it came up with a perfect match. Shepherd tracked the shell to its point of origin: a place in Rio De Janeiro in Brazil. A black and white picture of a young man in his early twenties came up. He wore a baseball cap in the picture. Another came up of an African man around the same age, possibly younger, who wore a baseball cap backwards. Shepherd pointed to the first man. "We just follow the shell to its origin. This is Alejandro Rojas."_

_ "I've never heard of him, sir," MacTavish said. _

_ "You know him as Alex the Red-he supplied Makarov with the weapons for his attack," Shepherd replied. He pointed to the African man. "He's his assistant, so if you can find him, he'll lead you right to Rojas." _

_ "To think that one bullet can unleash the fury of an entire nation," Soap said. His eyes widened as he realized what Shepherd wanted them to do. "Which means-"_

_ "That if you find Rojas, he'll lead us right to Makarov," Shepherd finished._

"MacTavish, do you have a fix on Rojas' right hand man?" Ghost asked on the radio. Roach stared out the window of the car. They had been driving for nearly three hours and he was beginning to fall asleep from the sheer boredom. The driver of their car, an African man native to Brazil, followed a truck in front of them carrying militia inside of it. He owned a bobble-head doll of a Hawaiian girl that was placed on the dashboard. He, too, looked bored simply following them.

"Negative, they've stopped twice already but there's been no sign of him," MacTavish replied from the back of the car. The car turned down another street, so they followed down. The buildings in Rio were cramped together, most of them disorganized. The part of the city they were at was far nicer, but the favela beyond it was full of shack-like buildings. One could literally travel between houses just by jumping from roof to roof. The car stopped in front of a building and three militants stepped out of the car. Two came out from the front and one came out from the back, all of them aiming guns at a young African man who stepped out of a hotel. "Wait, I think we see him. Whoever these guys are, they definitely aren't happy with this guy." Suddenly, the African man-confirmed as Rojas' right hand man-pulled out a Desert Eagle, firing to bullets into the stomach areas of the two men in front of him. One of them tried to shoot him in his final moments, but he fired a bullet into his head. The man in the back fired but missed, so Rojas' assistant shot two bullets into him.

MacTavish yelled at them to get down, but the driver wasn't fast enough. The bullet flew into the windshield and into the chest of the driver. Blood flew from him and covered the dashboard. Roach watched as the driver died, slumping over onto the steering wheel. MacTavish yelled at Roach to get out of the car as he did just that. Roach grabbed his ACR with a long to medium range ACOG sight attached to it. He kicked open the door and ran outside behind MacTavish. Ghost radioed in to tell them that he was flanking around the Hotel Rio to try to cut him off, but Rojas' assistant was far quicker than they were. He wore only shorts and a t-shirt, probably only carrying one extra magazine for his Desert Eagle, while the three of them and the four other TF 141 troops with them carried backpacks, automatic weapons, and armor on their bodies, making them far slower than he was.

There were more gunshots and an explosion as they raced downtown after the man. At a four way intersection, three cars were crashed into each other. They were burning away at each other as civilians ran away in terror. _Hand grenades, too,_ Roach thought. _Rojas must be very well equipped if he can give his men hand grenades and fully automatic weapons!_ Five more men ran from down the street holding Assault Rifles and SMGs. The one in front was Ghost, his skull mask slightly dampened from sweat as they sprinted after Rojas. MacTavish and Roach joined them in their chase to capture Rojas' assistant before he got the chance to escape. If he made it into the favela, there was no telling how long it would take them to find him!

They chased him into an alley leading to the back of the city and to the entrance of the favela. Roach sprinted ahead-as he had run track and field in high school-and aimed with his ACR. He fired a single bullet from his gun at his legs. The bullet flew straight into his ankle, downing him. He fell to the stone ground with a cry of pain. Roach ran up to him as he reached for his Desert Eagle. Roach kicked it out of the way and pointed his ACR at his face. The rest of the team caught up to them, breathing heavily. MacTavish nodded to Roach and grabbed Rojas' assistant by his shoulders. Ghost opened up the back of a nearby truck. There wasn't much inside save for a chair and a few wires and extension cables. Ghost shrugged and helped MacTavish haul him into the truck. Ghost took wires from his backpack and bound his wrists with it, tying him into the chair. Next, he took the wires and cut them so that the interior of the wires could be exposed. He tapped them together until they sparked. Ghost's skull mask was set in a grim smile, and Roach would bet anything that Ghost was smiling under that mask as well. Rojas' right hand man stared at the wires in horror and struggled in his chair. MacTavish turned away from Ghost-who at the moment was playfully threatening the man with the cables-and looked at Ghost and everyone else.

"This is going to take some time," he said, then nodded to two of the soldiers. "Rocket, Chemo, I want you two to stay here and guard the truck while we get some information out of this guy. Roach, Meat, Royce, I want you three to go into the favela and see if you can track down Rojas. That's where this guy is heading. Good luck." With that, he slammed the door of the truck shut. Roach, Meat, and Royce ran up the stairs and to the gate that led into the favela.

"Remember, guys," Royce said. "There are civilians in the favela, so watch your fire out there." Roach and Meat complied as they ran up to the gate. The entrance was already opened, allowing them access to the favela below. They jumped down one meter to the surface below. There were twenty civilians below playing a game of basketball while a few others stood by and spectated the game. "Meat, do you know how to get these civies out of here?"

"Watch and learn, boys," Meat said with a smile. He walked a few meters towards them, raised his ACR, and fired several shots into the air, shouting something in Spanish. They looked around until they found Meat, telling them something that neither Roach nor Royce could understand. Their eyes widened in terror and they began to run away. "Well, that was easy."

"What did you tell them?" Roach asked.

"That Americans were going to nuke them," he replied with a malicious grin. Roach and Royce laughed, but it was short-lived. They heard afar off gunshot from an AK47, a bullet flying into the car next to them. They looked up to see thirty-possibly forty!-militants enter the area on top of the rooftops, carrying a large assortment of weapons. They yelled in unison for their battle cry, firing shots into the air. Then, they turned their weapons on the three and opened fire, the bullets tearing into the ground and objects around them.

They took cover behind cars, trucks, and scattered crates and boxes around the area. Roach aimed with his ACR and brought down three militants who were preoccupied with firing at Meat, who was hiding behind a small green car. Royce took out a frag grenade and tossed it up at the shack-like homes. It exploded inside, bringing the hole building down. As soon as it crashed, Meat fired a grenade launcher round directly into it, killing the militants that were on top. Meat stood up to take a shot at another militant, and as soon as it began, it was over. The gunfire had ceased-at least for the moment.

Royce looked around the area and then reached into his backpack, taking out a map. He lied it on the ground, and pointed at the far back of the map. Roach recognized it as the favela. There were three main areas: at the far right was a small cluster of homes assorted in a kind of trail to the rear of the favela. At the far left-which was directly in front of them-was another path that led to the back of the favela. From there, there was another trail that led right until it intersected with the first path. In the middle of the favela was another path that intersected with the other three, all leading into the back of the main favela that they were at and lead deeper into the marketplace section of the favela.

Royce announced that he would take the right side and flank around. Meat decided to take the middle and cut through, which left Roach with the task of going on the left and breaking through what he suspected were iron defenses that lead deeper inside. _Leave it to a couple of yanks to give me the hardest mission,_ Roach thought. 'Yanks' were the nickname that the British had given the Americans a long time ago, but he suspected that not even the American's themselves knew what a yank was in the first place. He still got responses such as 'I was never even good at baseball!', which made Roach think that either they had no idea what he was talking about or there was just something seriously wrong with them. Either way, it was now up to him to take on the left side of the favela.

As Roach suspected, he was met with a considerably large resistance. Fortunately, though, the militants had no proper training with their weapons save for how to use them, giving him the advantage needed to punch through their defenses. Near the end of his journey through the favela, he saw a man holding a Dragunov Sniper Rifle. He wasn't quick enough to shoot the man before the bullet fired. Suddenly, he heard something that he dreaded: "Meat is down! I repeat Meat is down!" Roach swore under his breath but continued on. His anger from Meat's death transformed him into a walking tank of a man, killing anyone that stood in his way.

At the far end of the favela, a man ran into a shack at the end. He shot the hinges and kicked the door in to see a man being held hostage by the militant, a gun pointed at his temple. Roach had never been trained in a situation like this, and therefore didn't know what to do. He slowly set his gun on the table and raised his hands in the air, hoping to buy time for the civilian to run off. The militant fired the gun and killed the civilian instead, then turned it on Roach. He flung himself towards the man and pulled out a pistol, shooting the militant in the wrist and making him drop his gun, howling in pain. Roach silenced him and gave a quick salute to the poor civilian who'd been murdered even when Roach tried to save him. He picked up his ACR and continued on.

As he neared the end of the favela, he saw a horrifying sight: Royce was hanging two meters above the ground, his head lying back in the noose of a rope. Roach's anger flared at what he'd seen. First, a militant sniped Meat. Then, another murdered a man who more than likely had a family he would never see again. Now, Royce had been killed, hung from the roof of a building. Roach vowed to avenge their deaths after they weeded the information from Rojas.

"Captain MacTavish, this is Roach. Come in, over?" Roach called into the radio, pacing around the bottom of the favela.

"Roach, we got the info on Rojas!" MacTavish replied, gunfire sounding on his radio link. "We're on foot near the top of the favela! What's your status, over?"

"Meat and Royce are dead," Roach said bitterly. He heard MacTavish swear on the other end of the radio.

"There's no time for backup, Roach, so you're on your own. Try to cut of Rojas if you can, we're on his tail right now!" With that, MacTavish cut the radio link as Roach continued further into the favela. As he rounded a corner, he heard vicious growling and then barking. He looked around but didn't see anything. Then, a man opened up his window and pointed down an alley, screaming something frantically at Roach but he couldn't understand the Spanish. Then, a German Shepherd came flying at him. It growled and snapped its jaws at Roach. He couldn't do anything but try to keep those jaws from closing around his neck, so he let go of his ACR, put both hands on the dog's head, and then quickly turned it sideways. He heard an audible crack as its neck snapped, and its eyes rolled to the back of its head as he pushed the dog off of him. Roach couldn't believe his eyes. Now they were training dogs to kill, only to be killed as soon as they made the attempt? What kind of a hell hole had they stepped in to? He had no time to contemplate that now, however, and instead made his way through the favela once more.

It was long, tedious work to get through it. Several times, Roach saw what he suspected to be Rojas climbing the buildings but MacTavish had reprimanded Ghost for trying to put a shot in his leg.

"What are you waiting for?" Ghost had said. "I can end it here!"

"We can't risk it!" MacTavish protested. "Do you want to have to deal with the militia if we end up killing their leader?"

"Bullocks!" Ghost swore. "Fine!" Roach was now climbing up to the top of the favela and nearing the marketplace. If Rojas got in there, he probably wouldn't be found. It was so vast and complicated that not only would there be thousands of places he could hide, but there would be even more militants inside, making their job harder. And where there were more militants, there was an even greater chance of one of them getting killed. Roach doubted he could take another man dying before his eyes, so catching Rojas was a top priority for him.

A militant popped his head out of a window and fired at Roach, forcing him to take cover behind a large block of stone. The gunfire hadn't ceased, so he suspected that he had acquired a heavy machine gun. In its worst case scenario, a Vulcan Minigun. If he had that, it would tear the block to pieces and kill Roach within milliseconds. He noticed that the building the gunfire was coming from was lined up with another, but the second one was a bit further back. If he could throw a grenade-no, a Flashbang; he had run clear out of grenades-and hit the corner of the building, it could fly directly inside of the window and stun the militant long enough for Roach to take the shot and finish him off.

I only have one shot at this, Roach thought. He estimated the height at which he would have to throw it-not something easy for a man who wasn't good with numbers-then clicked the pin of the Flashbang, threw it at the building, and waited for the gunfire to cease. He did, as well as hear a groan from the militant inside. He stood up and shot him with his ACR until he went down, collapsing inside of the building. Roach examined the gun he was using and confirmed his fears: it was indeed a Vulcan Minigun. If he'd waited only a few more seconds, that turret would have torn him to pieces.

He began to walk away and make the jump to the next rooftop when he heard gunshots from above. Twenty more militants were above him, carrying AK47s and RPGs.

"Oh, bloody hell," Roach groaned. Then he was on the run, dodging rockets and bullets throughout the favela. His harried escape brought him further into the favela where he saw all of the men from the rooftops. Luckily, he had an experimental GP25 under slung grenade launcher at the bottom of his ACR. He fired the arced projectile and killed several of the militants at once, but there were still several more standing up and firing right at him. Roach was down to his last magazine, so he had to choose his shots wisely until he was down to his M1014 close-quarters shotgun and his M9 pistol, two of which were not suitable weapons in a constantly varied city such as the favela. He continued to fire at the militants, but just before he was about to kill the last two, he heard a loud click as he pulled the trigger. "Shite," Roach muttered. He still had one more of his GP25s, so he loaded it and fired. Their bodies flew from the rooftop and down hundreds of meters to the bottom of the favela. Roach, not having the heart-or the stomach-to watch, continued on.

He dropped his ACR and took out his M1014 and raced through the favela. He heard frantic footsteps above him, and he knew instantly that it had to be Rojas. He quickened his pace but lost him in a building. Ghost must have been nearby because Roach heard in both his radio and in the air, "He's going to get away!"

"No he's not!" MacTavish replied. Suddenly, Roach saw MacTavish fly out of the window of the house and crash into a red car at the bottom. Rojas was underneath him, struggling to escape. MacTavish pulled out a pistol and held it to Rojas' head, making him stop and stare into the muzzle in fear. What he didn't realize, however, was that there wasn't even a magazine cartridge loaded into the pistol, meaning that MacTavish was running low on his ammunition just as much as Roach was. Ghost came running from behind the building. He looked at the shattered glass around, then up at the window at the second floor and nodded his head in realization that Soap had tackled Rojas through it. "Baseplate, this is Bravo 6. We have the package, I repeat, we have the package!" Roach glared at Rojas, twirling his M9 in his hand and deliberately making a show of it in front of Rojas. He wanted to show Rojas what revenge was like when one messed with the men of the Task Force 141 and innocent civilians. Ghost was currently having an angry discussion on his radio.

"Bullocks, the skies are clear!" Ghost yelled into the radio. "Just send the bloody chopper already!" There was more angry shouting and swearing, then Ghost cut the link on his radio.

"What's going on, Ghost?" MacTavish asked.

"Command's got a head up their arse," Ghost replied with a growl. "We're on our own, sir."

**Well guys, what did you think? It's hard to believe that this was my longest chapter, and it's even harder to believe that we've just entered into the stage of Act II in the story! I probably won't be able to update until after Christmas, but I'll try my hardest to get one more chapter in before that happens, so make sure to check in on Fan Fiction just in case! Also, I'd like to hear reviews from you guys! It's like writing to mute people until the story ends! What do you think of it so far? Do you like the extra description? Am I doing really good or really terrible? What should I add to the story? Anything! Anyhow, thanks to my loyal supporters for continuing to read this story and get ready for what is in my opinion the most important part of the Modern Warfare storyline!**

**Wolf out.**

**P.S. If you have any questions about this story, my last story, upcoming stories, or anything else, message me on Xbox LIVE! My gamertag is WOLFxVSlayer667, and I play CoD 4, MW2, MW3, Black Ops, Halo Reach, Halo 3, Halo CEA, Medal of Honor, and more later on! **


	7. Ch 6: Wolverines! Part One

"Wolverines! – Part One"

Day 4-17:45:52 Hours, 2016

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Northeastern Virginia, U.S.A.

_The satellites were acting up today. It wasn't unusual for a minor glitch to arise in one of them from time to time; after all, they hadn't exactly perfected technology yet. Solar disturbances from sunspots or flares from the surface of the sun were the usual culprit as solar interference wasn't uncommon for Earth. When it happened, telephone lines would go down, internet would go on the fritz, and all even navigational controls would be somewhat off. It lasted usually only a few minutes until everything went back to normal, almost so quickly that people didn't even realize what had happened. Today, however, it was different._

_ Every single satellite orbiting the eastern hemisphere of the planet showed multiple aircraft and sea vessels approaching from the east and west, closing in on North America. The Commander of the United States Military, nicknamed 'Overlord', was watching from the main monitor at the front of the inner chambers of a secret military base deep in the heart of the United States. Overlord was in his late sixties, but he would have known if the military had been recalled. In fact, it would have been he who issued the order for a recall! _

_ "Sand Bravo," Overlord said, radioing in to the military base in Northern Alaska. "There are signs of about seventy bogeys in your area. Please verify?" There were thirty five large triangles on the screen heading towards the base. One triangle usually meant there were either two or three aircraft, but three would be the absolute worst case scenario other than four, which would mean an invasion. The man at the other end of the line laughed._

_ "Right, very funny, station," the Sergeant replied. "That's a big negative, over." Overlord turned to one of the men at the monitors and ordered him to perform a clean-sweep of the system infrastructure and check for a glitch in one of their ACS modules. He scanned the individual satellites orbiting their part of the planet, but they seemed to be operating at full efficiency. Overlord furrowed his brow and paced around the inner sanctum, trying to figure out what was going on._

_ He couldn't imagine that solar interference would disrupt the satellites so thoroughly that they would begin to create false imagery of aircraft and nearly four times as many sea vessels heading towards America. Then again, he had never really paid much attention in his science classes. Perhaps it was a glitch in the mainframe, not the satellites? That was certainly a possibility, as well as was the possibility of someone trying to hack into their system. Russia had attempted several times to do so in the past, so would it be such a surprise if they tried to do it again. _

_ "Sand Bravo, be advised: we're running diagnostics to scan for a malfunction," Overlord said._

_ "The skies are clear, station," the man repeated. "You've got yourself some phantom dots, over." There was a loud beep on the monitor ahead, and he turned to see what it was. Now it was reading that there were about one hundred-possibly more-unidentified aircraft heading for California. What's going on? Overlord thought._

_ "Zulu X-ray 6, you've got signs of some one hundred bogeys in your sector, please advise!" Overlord called. The Sergeant of the base had a very similar response to the Sergeant of Sand Bravo. _

_ "Negatory station, the scope is clear," the Sergeant replied. "I dunno what to tell you. Think it's solar interference? There might be some heavy sun spot activity today." With that, he cut the link. There were several more beeps showing one hundred plus aircraft inbound for Maine, Florida, and Virginia. Maine and Florida both reported that they didn't see anything on their radars. Overlord didn't know if he should be angry or worried. There was the possibility that there were F-22s stationed there._

_ The F-22 Fighter was a nimble, fast, and relatively stealthy fighter. If there were indeed F-22s being used, that could explain why no one else could see them on their radars. Finally, there was another beep and triangles came up that said that there were well over two hundred aircraft heading for Virginia. For one last time, Overlord picked up the radio and called in to the base stationed there._

_ "Sierra Delta, uh, we may have a minor ACS fault here," Overlord said. "Do you have anything on your scope, over?"_

_ "THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!" The man screamed into the radio._

_ "Sierra Delta, repeat!" Overlord said. "What's going on?"_

_ "I'm seeing fighter jets over I-95! How the hell did they get through?" He cried. In his radio, he could hear the sound of fighters, bombers, and possibly troop carriers screaming through the sky. There was also the sound of explosions in the background and gunfire, which meant that there was indeed an attack going on._

_ "Standby, I'm trying to contact the nearest unit in your sector!" Overlord replied. _

_ "I read you, Overlord!" An African American man's voice came over the radio. "This is the 75__th__ Battalion Ranger Regiment, Sergeant Foley, commanding officer of Hunter 2-1. What's the mission, over?"_

_ "There's an invasion on America!" Overlord said. "I'm redirecting you to Virginia to help Sierra Delta on the front lines! All stations be advised, satellite surveillance has been disabled! SOSUS and PavePaws are inoperative at this time!" Overlord watched as the satellites individually went out of commission as something tampered with the network. The engineers and people monitoring the computer couldn't trace who was taking out there 'Eyes in the Sky', so whoever was down there was on their own. Overlord prayed that they would make it out alive._

James Ramirez had just graduated from his training camp in Afghanistan and was on his way to being a Ranger. For a while, though, he wasn't placed in a battalion-not even a squadron-because there weren't any clear slots for him yet. So for a week after he had officially become an Army Ranger, he kept himself in shape in the barracks of Fire Base Phoenix. When a slot was finally cleared in Hunter 2-1 with Sergeant Foley, he jumped for the slot immediately. Sergeant Foley, Corporal Dunn, and the other men in the battalion were good men who accepted Ramirez.

No one had ever accepted-or even respected-Ramirez. In his school years, he was constantly pushed around and bullied by anyone who could think of something to use against him. One thing that he was constantly picked on about were his straight A grades. When the day came that he finally snapped from his bullying, he showed everyone his hidden talent: he had incredible strength; he could have made the varsity football or wrestling teams if he'd wanted. That fight had ruined his perfect record and made people afraid of him. He didn't want that, so he knew that there were no other places he could go but to put his strength to use in service to his country. The men in the army were different; they may have been bold, strict, and the Sergeants yelled a lot, but they were accepting of Ramirez (mainly because of the fact that he like everyone else decided that instead of a normal career he chose to serve the country.

Ramirez hadn't been in any missions with Hunter 2-1 yet. In fact, they were instantly recalled like so many other battalions and regiments to help Homeland Security for a while. It was dull, boring work. There was nothing to do except hang around the military bases in the states. Ramirez couldn't believe that anyone would choose a career such as Homeland Security if they only sat around all day and looked at monitors, watching for a large threat from foreign invaders while another section of them waited to see if there would be any large movement from within the states that would endanger anyone. Foley made all of them keep themselves in shape, making sure that if anything did happen, they would be ready for it. They never used their weapons-any bullets had to be saved by order of General Shepherd, though no one knew why. No one even knew why the Rangers had been called back. The strangest part was the fact that Overlord, the Commander of all United States Military deployments (second only to the President himself) wasn't the one that ordered them back. Ramirez had even contemplated if he knew that they were there.

Ramirez had long awaited his first mission with Hunter 2-1 so he could finally prove his worth to the rest of the battalion. When that day finally came, however, they were completely off their guard. Ramirez had been cleaning his SCAR-H-an odd habit he had picked up after joining the Rangers-Dunn had been sleeping, and Foley had been talking to someone on the radio. Ramirez heard someone screaming on the other end of the line and a voice that he thought was Overlord, but he couldn't be completely certain. Foley ended the connection link and nudged Dunn awake.

"What-?" Dunn asked. Before Foley could answer, however, there was a massive explosion and the next thing they knew, an F-22 flew through the ceiling and crashed into the wall behind them, erupting into flame. Dunn's eyes shot wide open and he scrambled to his feet off of the couch. There was a loud siren going off outside, signaling an attack. Ramirez knew that it had to be for two reasons-the first being that the invasion siren sounded similar to a tornado siren, and the second being that a plane crashed into the base.

They sprinted outside and into the warm noon day. The sky, however, wasn't completely blue-hundreds of fighters, bombers, and troop carriers flew overheard. The F-22 fighters and F-18 bombers fired missiles and bombs around the city, annihilating buildings. A missile flew past them and destroyed the building they had been in just moments earlier. They were thrown a few meters away, the explosion roaring in their ears.

They got to their feet and ran down the crumbling runway of the base. Planes and helicopters tried to take off only to be shot down before they could do so. Humvees raced past them, but were destroyed quickly by the planes. Smoke began to rise from the city beyond the base as buildings were hit by the crossfire.

"We've got to get to the convoy with Homeland Security at the other end of the cargo bays!" Foley yelled over the fire. "We'll regroup with the rest of the team there!" Ramirez and Dunn nodded and followed him across the runway. A bomb crashed into the ground nearby and sent them flying. Ramirez clutched his ears in pain, the sound of the explosion ringing in his ears. He felt blood trickle out of his ears and onto his gloved hands. Dunn ran up to Ramirez and helped him to his feet, handing him his SCAR-H. Ramirez took the rifle gratefully and they caught up with Foley.

The Captain of the runway tower near the cargo bays was issuing orders to everyone at the base. He told everyone the obvious-they were under attack, this wasn't a drill, and they were ordered to regroup with any remaining Humvees that they could find. Suddenly, a missile flew into the base of the tower and it tipped over, smashing into the cargo bays before exploding. They continued to run despite the fact that they were not safe in the city any longer. Behind the cargo bays was the convoy. Or rather, what was left of it. The Humvees were smoking in ruin, the metal blackened and charred. Rangers and other soldiers from Homeland Security lied around the wreckage, their bodies charred, mutilated, and missing limbs.

"Follow me!" Foley yelled. They ran behind him as he ran inside of one of the cargo bays.

"What now?" Dunn asked. "Those bombers will tear us to pieces if we get in a vehicle."

"I can't raise anyone on the coms either," Ramirez said. "Satellites aren't even working." Foley nodded and paced around inside of the cargo bay. There wasn't much in there save for an armored Humvee that didn't even have a mounted machine gun on it, so it wasn't going to be effective for firing back at the enemy if they chose to use that to get out of the bay.

Ramirez tried to figure out who was attacking them for the moment to distract himself from their predicament. The militants didn't have the amount of firepower or aircraft-especially not lethal fighters and bombers-to attack them, which ruled them out. It was possible that China or Korea were attacking them; after all, America had been awaiting a possible attack because of their money that was due to them.

That didn't explain why they had decided to do it now without anyone knowing. In World War Two, America expected that Japan would attack them, just not when. No one expected any attack from anyone on America now though, so Ramirez was completely stumped on who it was that was attacking them. Then, Foley grabbed a piece of armored plating and compared it to the top of the Humvee. He exhaled then looked around the cargo bay for more objects. He found a few bullet proof vests and shot holes through the plating layer by layer, and then connected them to each other. When that was done, he strapped the bulletproof vests to the plating. With that, he placed it on top of the Humvee and screwed it in place. He stood back to look at his handiwork. There were still more places on the vehicle that were open and exposed to everything outside, so Dunn and Ramirez went looking around the cargo bay with Foley for anything that they could use to cover the Humvee. When they were finished, they put bulletproof vests on the side windows so no stray shots would catch them from that angle.

With that, they climbed inside and looked around for anything they could use as navigation. Their GPS systems wouldn't work due to the absence of their satellite surveillance. Dunn found a paper map inside of the glove compartment of the Humvee. He looked around it until he found their position at the Homeland Security base. He pointed out the cargo bay they were hiding in labeled B8.

"Right here," Dunn said. "If we go north into the city about twenty miles ahead we should be at a fallout bunker. Anyone that was stationed here was told to go there if the base was ever lost. If the bunker's still there, we can see if we can find a functioning radio." Foley nodded and pulled back the pin on his SCAR-H then turned off the safety.

"Alright, well let's hope that our modifications will help us," he said. "The only thing we should have to worry about is missiles or bombs from the fighters, but aside from that we should be relatively safe. Just keep your fingers on your triggers and shoot anything within range." Ramirez and Dunn nodded and they turned to the windshield as Foley started up the Humvee. Suddenly, there was a massive explosion that sounded behind them. The cargo bay was illuminated in red-orange light and debris flew around them.

"DRIVE, DRIVE! We've gotta get the hell out of here!" Ramirez shouted. Foley nodded and floored the pedal, throwing the Humvee through the main doors and out into the open. Smoke billowed out from the city and into the sky, fires being lit around the area. They sped out from the cargo bay and made their way into the city. None of the fighters or bombers targeted them, but that didn't mean that they had to specifically target them. As they raced to the city, they had to dodge falling buildings and houses around the area.

They drove down the street but were stuck as civilians tried to run away, some of them pointing behind them, telling them to go the other way; all of them, however, were screaming in terror. Foley honked the horn on the Humvee in frustration as they made their way slowly through the streets of the facility. Then, Ramirez noticed an F-22 on the horizon. It turned into the city and fired two heat seeking missiles at them. They crashed into the mass of civilians in front of them, blood and gore splattering onto the windshield. Foley shot the windshield so they could see again, but Ramirez-disgusted as he was by the windshield-was horrified by the sight in front of them. Gore and limbs littered the burning, destroyed area. Foley swore and punched the dashboard in anger. He continued to drive through the city, the Humvee flying through streets. The city had truly fallen, burning into oblivion as fire ate away at the buildings and dying people. They drove through the streets and at one point had to dodge a falling skyscraper as it crashed to the ground below.

When they made it to the fallout bunker, the first thing they noticed was that half of it was destroyed by a bomb impact. The gates were blown open and there were several Humvees around the area. They climbed through the burning wreckage and into the building. There were a few dead soldiers, but their bodies were destroyed beyond all recognition. As they made their way to the back of the bunker, they formed up at the door at the back. Dunn yelled inside, "UNITED STATES RANGERS!" He kicked in the door at they aimed their SCAR-Hs inside. They're red dot sights shown in the dark room as red laser beams through the darkness.

Foley switched on a light and they realized that they were in a monitoring station. Ramirez started up one of the computers with what he suspected was a radio transmitter next to it and tried to get into the system.

"What are you trying to do?" Foley asked him.

"Trying to get a link to command," Ramirez replied.

"Is it secure?"

"I don't think any of us can guarantee 'secure' anymore, sir." Ramirez replied. It took him a few minutes, but finally, he got a radio to work. It sparked a bit but through the fuzz of the microphone, he thought he could hear a voice. Ramirez took his radio off of his shoulder. He broke open the back hatch of it and connected the wires to the ones in the transmitter. That seemed to do the trick, boosting the signal of the link and they could hear a man's voice at the other end. It was Overlord.

"Overlord, this is Sergeant Foley of Hunter 2-1!" Foley called into the radio. "Do you copy, over?"

"I read you, 2-1," Overlord replied. "What's the situation?"

"Homeland Security's been hit hard, sir," he reported. "We can't find any survivors. Our flyboys were hit right out of the sky and the convoy is completely destroyed. What should we do?" Overlord's voice was shrouded by static for a few minutes, making it impossible for them to hear what he was saying. Ramirez tried to boost the signal to get a better reading.

"I suggest that you just stay where you are, 2-1," Overlord said.

"We can't sir," Dunn said. "This bunker's barely holding out as it is and the city's going to shit."

"Roger that," Overlord replied. "I'll try to send a Black Hawk to your position; the Spetsnaz are blocking a lot of our flyers so you'll have to wait."

"Spetsnaz?" Ramirez questioned. "Russia is attacking us?"

"Affirmative," Overlord replied, confirming what he'd just said. "We're trying to figure out what's going right now; they're hitting the entire eastern and western seaboards in force and are moving into America. I'm busy recalling all of our forces from foreign lands to help out with the defensive effort. The Black Hawk's coming right now, just standby. We'll get you out of there ASAP, just hold on." Foley complied, but then they heard something from outside of the base. Dunn opened the door in time to see a missile heading right for them.

"GET DOWN!" He screamed, and then everything went black.

**What did you guys think? I'll try to update at least one more time before Christmas and I'll probably have the story in by tomorrow at the earliest. Make sure to review the story so far and tell me how I'm doing!**

**WOLF OUT. **


	8. Ch 7: Wolverines! Part Two

"Wolverines! – Part Two"

Day 4-18:21:32 Hours, 2016

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Northeastern Virginia, U.S.A.

"_Are you at the rendezvous point yet?" Overlord asked worriedly. He had lost contact with Hunter 2-1 almost immediately-he hadn't even had the chance to cut the link and try to reaffirm connection with the orbiting satellites. _

_ "Negative, sir," the pilot replied. "We're still two hundred klicks east of their position."_

_ "Just hurry it up, pilot!" Overlord said. "We've lost too many men and women today and countless civilians. I'm not going to lose them too!" _

_ "Roger that, Overlord," the pilot replied. "We'll get there as fast as we can."_

_ "Good," he said. "I have a new mission for them."_

"James! JAMES!" Ramirez could hear Dunn's voice through his muffled hearing. He tried to open his eyes and see through the fuzzy vision. Dunn was crouched over him, picking off pieces of rock and stone from his body. "Come on! We've got to move!" Ramirez nodded in pain as his vision and hearing returned to him. Dunn grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him to his feet. There was a small explosion and rock fell from the ceiling and shot away from the massive hole in the wall. Foley was firing shots at something outside of it.

Dunn picked up a SCAR-H lying on the ground and handed it to Ramirez. He took it gratefully and they joined Foley in shooting at the Spetsnaz outside. There was about ten of them, but they had the advantage of cover and heavy weaponry that was keeping them pinned down. Foley hid behind cover and clicked on his radio, trying to call in the Black Hawk that Overlord had sent. From his angry expression, Ramirez could tell they weren't anywhere near. They continued to fire at the Spetsnaz when suddenly, an armored Humvee sped right into their ranks, running over the Spetsnaz and the people inside shooting at the rest.

Another Humvee sped behind the first, but it only had a single driver inside of it. They four Rangers from the Humvees scanned the area and then ran up to the three men. Ramirez, Dunn, and Foley all instantly recognized them as the men from their own unit. Private McCord, Lieutenant Sanders, Private First Class Morgan, and Staff Sergeant Richardson approached them.

"Are you guys alright?" Richardson asked them. They nodded in unison, too exhausted from the recent events to answer them verbally. "We've got to head fifty miles from here; that helicopter that was coming to get you got shot down. Colonel Raptor was onboard, so it's a priority one rescue mission!"

"Alright, let's all get to the vehicles and move out!" Foley announced as they ran to the Humvees.

**Two Hours Later**

****Listen to this song until it ends-it makes the story more epic! .com/watch?v=T23ea6pulRM****

"The fighters are coming from the east side of I-95!" The Ranger from Zulu X-Ray Six screamed into the radio. "We are cut off! I repeat: we are cut off from all available teams! We can't escape! Shit, BTR! Get out of the way!" Ramirez sat in the front seat of the Humvee next to Dunn who was driving behind the rest of their team. Foley sat in the back of Humvee calling into the radio but he couldn't raise Zulu X-Ray Six despite his attempts to raise them on several different channels. The sky was shrouded in gray-yellow smoke from fires deep in the town ahead. They diverted their original course from I-95 and took a shortcut through a suburban neighborhood. The houses in the neighborhood were abandoned as civilians tried desperately to escape deeper into the heart of the United States and away from the fighting. There were still cars in their driveways, however, and Ramirez wondered just how many people had gotten out of their beforehand.

A Spetsnaz soldier parachuted onto the roof of a house in front of them, so McCord fired the heavy machine gun mounted on the Humvee in front of them at the man, killing him as he touched down. More fighters, bombers, and transports flew in the sky above Virginia. Spetsnaz jumped down from the sky and invaded the town. Dunn and Ramirez exchanged a brief glance as they looked at the burning town. The Humvee in front of them stopped as they came across a road block. Just as they were about to try plowing through it, a BTR sped down one of the adjacent streets just outside of the roadblock. Its cannons turned to their Humvees and opened fire on them.

They leaped out of the Humvees as they exploded. Fortunately, none of them were injured, but they were forced to take cover behind the house next to them. The BTR may have had the firepower to destroy the house, but it would take a long time and far more ammunition than it currently carried, so it moved on, defeated. Foley told the six of them to follow him behind the houses. The back yard of the house was littered with debris from nearby bombing. The wooden fence was blown wide open, giving them access to the flood ditch behind the houses. They jumped down the several feet into the ditch and followed it deeper into the neighborhood.

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1," Foley called into the radio. "I'm requesting an immediate air strike on enemy armor, over!"

"Hunter 2-1," Overlord replied. "All of our air support is already engaged. Additional reinforcements are en route to your position but have encountered heavy resistance, over."

"Copy that, Overlord," Foley said as he hopped over a broken pipe. "Be advised: we're proceeding on foot to the crash site to extract Raptor, over."

"Overlord copies all," he replied. "Good luck. Out."

"Sarge?" Dunn asked as they exited the ditch. "Did HQ just tell us to go 'F' ourselves?"

"Pretty much, corporal," Foley grunted as they ran behind one of the buildings. They ran out of the ditch and farther into the neighborhood. The BTR rolled up the street, firing at any houses within range. "Wait, don't fire! They haven't acquired us yet! Just hang right and stay behind it!" They all complied and followed Foley's lead as he stealthily made his way into the town. The BTR literally destroyed everything in its patch, leaving behind burning ruins. There was another road block at the end of the street, but they didn't realize it and-as the BTR was backing up-were caught in the sight lines of the BTR.

They dove behind cover as it tore into their positions, blasting trees apart and cars into smoldering pieces. Ramirez took out a smoke grenade and tossed it down the street. It rolled down until it hit the tire of the BTR. The pin clicked and flew off, and a large cloud of artificial smoke flew up and around the BTR. They sprinted past it and into an alley on the right. There were several Russians down at the end of it carrying AK47 and TAR-21 Assault Rifles as well as P90, UMP-45, and Vector submachine guns. They aimed their SCAR-Hs and M4A1s down the alley and fired into their ranks as they were unbeknownst to their presence.

As they continued down the alley, Ramirez saw several Hinds fly overhead and deeper into the town. Ivan, the Russian Military Commander, must have deployed literally everything. Now, they were going to destroy America at all costs. To what ends Ramirez knew not, be he knew this much: he would die before he saw America fall.

"That's the smoke from the crash site!" Foley called and pointed ahead at a plume of smoke rising from the other side of a building labeled 'Nate's Restaurant'. They followed Foley to the other end of the road from the small diner and gas station that they had come from. As they rounded the building, they saw the crashed helicopter smoking and in flames. There was a lone Ranger taking cover behind a green car in the parking lot, trading fire with Russians in a bank at the other side of it. They took up positions around the area and helped the Ranger fire back at the Russians. Foley ran up to the Ranger as they continued to fire back at the Russians. "Private, where's Raptor?"

"We moved him into the meat locker in the restaurant!" The private replied. "The thing's practically bulled proof!"

"Corporal Dunn, go check on Raptor!" Foley ordered. Dunn may be an expert fighter, but he was also Hunter 2-1's acting medic. He nodded and ran off into the restaurant. A moment later, Dunn radioed in to tell Foley that Raptor was perfectly secure and stable inside.

"Alright, what else do you have to report?" Foley asked.

"We got a supply drop on the roof with and M5 Sentry Gun!" He replied.

"Ramirez, go and check on the supply drop!" Foley told him. "We'll be right behind you as soon as we get through with Ivan's men!" Ramirez nodded and sprinted inside of Nate's Restaurant. Inside of the kitchen was a ladder that led to the roof. He climbed the metal rungs until he came to the top. There were three boxes nicknamed 'care packages' lying there. Ramirez unlocked them and saw that in one box there were four M21 EBR Sniper Rifles with Thermal Scopes as well as two Intervention Sniper Rifles with normal scopes and two sets of claymore trip mines. He took out the snipers, set the two magazines that each one of them came with next to each other, and then stashed the claymores in his pack.

In the next package there was the M5 Sentry Gun. He hefted the large automatic turret out and set it up on the side of the restaurant. He turned it on, tagged the uniforms of the Rangers below so that the gun wouldn't target anyone wearing uniforms such as that, and set it to target the Russian Spetsnaz that were exchanging fire with the Rangers. He clicked the fire button and the Sentry Gun began to spin up, lower its sights and target the Spetsnaz below. In the third and final package was two M4A1 Assault Rifles, four magazines for each of them, and a small portable computer labeled PDR which meant Predator Drone Recon. The Predator Drones were small, nimble aircraft that carried up to ten missiles that could be fired manually at targets on the ground. The computer would control the missiles manually so that they could even hit targets moving at incredible speeds. He stuffed the PDR in his pack and called down to the Rangers that they could use the supply drop.

They fell back into the restaurant and climbed the ladder. As soon as everyone was on the roof, Ramirez handed Dunn, McCord, and Richardson two claymores to set in defensive positions around the restaurant in case the Russians tried to breach their perimeter. They nodded and took the mines, setting two on the roof and the others on the surface below. Then, smoke screens began to appear around the area. Ramirez took one of the M21s and used the thermal scope to see through the thick smoke below. There must have been at least twenty Russians moving up to the restaurant; far more of them than their claymores could handle.

He fired at the targets, dropping them one by one. Each time he shot, there was a white splatter as the heated blood from their bodies flew in all directions. Then, another smoke screen appeared behind them. Ramirez set the Sentry Gun to thermal so it could see the Russians coming in from the original position by the bank, and then raced across the roof to fire at the men coming from the other side. All of their claymores on both the surface and the roof had been detonated, leaving ten Russians lying in pieces. There weren't enough claymores left, however, forcing them to station two Rangers at the ladders of the restaurant to intercept any Russians that tried to scale the building.

What Ramirez was truly worried about, however, was how Dunn was holding out in the meat locker below. He said that he and Raptor were fine, but Ramirez knew Dunn well enough at this point to know that there was a sarcastic side to Dunn that proved he wasn't always fine when he said he was. Nevertheless, Ramirez continued to fire at the Russians below. Aside from two BTRs that were now patrolling the area, all of the Russians began to evacuate the area and fall back into the Taco Restaurant next door and the Burger Town two lots over.

"I think Ivan's had enough!" Foley said with a grin. Before Ramirez or anyone else had a chance to agree or disagree, something shot out of the sky and smashed into the helicopter crash site. Dunn called into the radio to ask what was happening, but they didn't even know themselves. Another explosion went off as another streak flew from the sky, obliterating the gas station across the road in front of them.

"AC130!" Ramirez yelled. "We've got to go!" They all complied, sliding down the ladder into the restaurant. Immediately, bullets flew through windows and cannon shots obliterated the seats and the bar inside of the restaurant as the Russians and their mobilized BTRs targeted the restaurant.

"This location's compromised," Foley said. Then they heard the sound of two machine guns revving up and a massive volley of bullets flew inside of the restaurant and into the walls and booths inside. The Hinds were targeting them now, which was definitely not a good sign.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" McCord asked as he took cover behind one of the brick walls.

"Sergeant Foley!" Ramirez shouted across the kitchen. "You and Dunn stay here to protect Raptor! I'll take McCord, Richardson, Morgan, and Sanders to the diner; I saw Stinger Missiles in there that we can use to take out the Hinds and I've got a PDR loaded for bear that I can use to take out the BTRs and the defenses at Burger Town!"

"Alright, you heard the man!" Foley said. "Go do as he says, quickly!" With that, they ran from the restaurant and into the parking lot of the Taco-to-Go restaurant. The BTRs hadn't seen them, nor had the Hinds or any of the other Russian forces. Now, it was up to them to take out the Russian offensive and buy time for Dunn and Foley to secure Raptor so they could move him to the Burger Town and out of the way of the AC130. They sprinted across the road and into the diner. There were three Russians inside, but Ramirez made short work of them with his under slung shotgun at the bottom of his SCAR-H. He ordered the men around him take up positions around the diner so he could call in the UAV's Predator Drone. One of the Rangers had the stinger missile and was already targeting the Hinds.

Ramirez hid behind the counter and opened the PDR, typing in a few keys. Then, a message on the screen appeared that read 'ACCESS GRANTED TO AUTHORIZED PERSONEL HUNTER 2-1'. He then saw a black and white image on the screen and he knew immediately that he was seeing the ground through the view of the Predator Missile. He shifted the view a bit until he saw the BTRs, Russians, and Hinds around the restaurant. He clicked another button and the missile flew downward to the BTR. The man with the stinger fired at one of the Hinds at the same time. The missiles truck the BTR and Hind at the same time. The BTR erupted into flame and the Hinds spun out of control until it smashed into the one next to it, destroying both of them.

Ramirez fired another Predator at the second BTR and one more at the fleeing Russians. All that was left now was fire, smoke, and debris that littered the area from what was formerly an entire battalion of troops. They ran from the diner to the restaurant where Foley, Dunn, and Raptor were waiting. Suddenly, the AC130 fired a 150 millimeter rocket at the diner, annihilating it. Ramirez's heart lurched as he saw the building go up in flames. McCord called into the radio for Sergeant Foley, but there was no response from him or Dunn. After a few moments of waiting that seemed like hours, they heard coughing on the other end of the radio.

"This location's compromised!" Foley yelled. "Ramirez, I need you all to take out the men at the Burger town for us so we can move Raptor!" Ramirez was relieved beyond belief that Foley and Dunn had survived the attack. He turned to the other Rangers and motioned for them to follow him. A few shots from the Burger Town flew at them, which meant that there must not be a lot of men inside. Ramirez led the way inside with his under slung shotgun and-with the assistance of the rest of the team-cleared out the Burger Town.

He, McCord, and Morgan climbed to the roof and aimed their weapons at the restaurant. Through Ramirez's red dot sight, he could see Foley and Dunn carrying Raptor from Nate's Restaurant and sprinting across the parking lots to the Burger Town. When they finally made their way inside, Ramirez noticed that there were more Russians coming from the diner. He took out the PDR and fired a missile at them. There must have been twenty of them, all of them killed with just a single missile. Then, there was a loud explosion in the sky as someone on the ground fired a rocket at the UAV, destroying the drone in flight-with all of their Predator Missiles.

"The Predator is offline!" McCord yelled. _Yeah, like the rest of us haven't already figured _that_ out,_ Ramirez thought, but aimed his SCAR-H at the Russians coming from the restaurant. The Russians began to overwhelm them with the size of their force. They were beginning to run low on ammunition as they fired at the Russians. Morgan ran out of ammunition, so Ramirez gave him his last magazine. A few more dropped down, then a cannon shot into the middle of them. An entire convoy of Rangers drove up from the side with armed and armored Humvees, tanks, armored transports, and what Ramirez thought must have been at least two hundred reinforcements. Overlord always came through for them after all. They got off of the roof and rushed to the convoy. A medic ran up to Raptor and took him from Foley and Dunn, rushing him to an armored transport.

"It's about time you guys got here!" Dunn exclaimed as he, Foley, and Ramirez climbed inside of the armored transports. "Where to now?"

"Overlord's redirecting us to Arcadia," the driver replied. "If any of you boys got family in there, it's your lucky day. We're going to go save their lives!"

**I'll have another update tomorrow, but you guys won't see any more chapters until after Christmas because I have a very busy schedule set, but if you guys can take the time to review this chapter, that'll be greatly appreciated!**

**WOLF OUT.**


	9. Ch 8: The Hornet's Nest

"Hornet's Nest"

Day 4-16:19:43 Hours, 2016

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

Rio De Janeiro, Brazil – Favela

"_Well that's just bloody great," Ghost said as they watched the video footage from the computer screen. The screen showed several videos of Russian troops invading America. The Russian fleet was stationed on all sides of the country, helicopters, bombers, fighters, and transports blanketing the airlines of the country. Any civilian planes were shot down from the sky and crashed into the houses with even more people living in them below. "America's just become a complete shit-storm."_

_ "I can't even raise anyone on the horn," Roach reported, slamming the radio down angrily. "They must be jamming all coms in or out of the States."_

_ "They must have got through the ACS module before we recovered it," MacTavish said, referring to their mission in the mountains. "The Russians have a key to every lock in America."_

_ "Which means that this mission was all for nothing, doesn't it?" Ghost asked, folding his arms over his chest in frustration. MacTavish shook his head and clicked on the computer screen, bringing up a picture of a Russian man in his late twenties. He had buzz cut hair and wore a t-shirt and jeans. _

_ "Not yet," MacTavish said, showing them the picture. "I know a guy who can get us back in the fight. Let's go find a pay phone."_

_ "Those things still exist?" Ghost asked incredulously. _

"Sir, we've got militia closing in from the front and back!" Ghost reported as they sprinted through the back of the favela and towards the marketplace. They were all equipped with new weapons, Roach carrying a UMP .45 submachine gun with a grip and ACOG sight, compensating for his ammo-less ACR with ACOG and grenade launcher. He still carried his M1014 shotgun, but it only had two clips remaining, so he carried a Desert Eagle when that ran out of ammunition. Because of the fact that SMG ammunition was very lightweight, Roach was able to carry seven separate magazines on his belt as well as two fragmentation (frag) grenades and three Flashbangs.

Rojas wasn't with them; MacTavish left him back in the favela tied to a pole for the militia to take care of when they found him. A man like him couldn't be allowed to supply weapons to Makarov anymore, especially if he was going on more genocide massacres like the one in Moscow. MacTavish-obviously knowing a thing or two about being 'persuasive'-was able to get a treasure trove of information from the man. One thing that they all found particularly interesting was the fact that there was one man that Makarov hated more than anyone else on the planet-including Americans. The man was currently a prisoner in a Russian Gulag so there was no hope of him escaping and causing 'harm' again. They couldn't figure out who the prisoner was, where he was from, or even if 'he' was even a 'he' to begin with. There was no information on him other that the fact that he was locked up and has been for a very long time. Once again, they couldn't figure out how long he'd been locked up for. MacTavish knew immediately that however it was, they had to spring him out for two reasons: the first was that if Makarov hated the prisoner so much, there must be a good reason why he had to lock him up. The second was to use him as bait to lure Makarov out of hiding.

They learned other things as well like where the weapons were being transported to and where they came from. Rojas wouldn't say where exactly, but he hinted an estate Safe House in southwestern Russia that Makarov had been known to use in the past. There was another place in Afghanistan nicknamed 'The Boneyard' where destroyed and discarded planes were lying in various states of disarray and disrepair. Makarov used that place just as much as he used the estate, so there was no telling which one he would be at and at what time. They were, however, able to gain a wealth of information from Rojas that would undoubtedly assist them in their mission to find Makarov, so anything and everything that Rojas told them was invaluable to them and to the Americans. He even told them what Makarov's grand scheme was, and it was horrifying to even think about it. Makarov wanted to create a third World War. Makarov was completely and utterly insane! The previous World War nearly tore the planet to pieces, but if he was allowed to create a third, not just humanity, but all life on Earth would be in jeopardy. The war between America and Russia was only the beginning: Makarov planned on forcing Russia to invade Europe and bring them into the conflict.

Imran Zakhaev had kept Makarov in check up until this point. He was at least sane enough to know that a global conflict was going too far even for someone who hated Americans and their government. Now with Russia's new government, Zakhaev got what he always wanted with his death, but if Makarov was allowed to do what he wanted, he would tear the world apart. The nuclear warheads that the countries and nations owned would be unleashed on the planet, and therefore turn the planet into a worldwide ghost town. MacTavish, Roach, Ghost, Rocket, and Chemo had all been to Pripyat, a city near Chernobyl in Ukraine. The place was abandoned now when fifty thousand people were evacuated after a nuclear meltdown. The city would be uninhabitable for another thousand years, perhaps even ten thousand before the radiation left the area. MacTavish swore that there would not be another Pripyat, and he would not allow so many people to die. They had to end the war before it was too late.

"Let's get going, Nikolai will meet as at the primary LZ in the center of town," MacTavish told them.

"Let's do this!" Ghost yelled and they repeated the battle cry as they rushed into the parking lot ahead. An RPG flew directly above them and into a car. It exploded and flew high in the air before crashing into the ground in a smoking heap of scrap metal. Militants jumped down from the roof carrying AK47s, TAR-21s, and a variety of SMGs and shotguns. Bullets flew around the area and at Task Force. They dove behind cover and traded fire with the militants on the ground and on the rooftops. There were several gunshots from a Dragunov Sniper Rifle up above. Roach used his ACOG sight to look high and found a small outpost on the roof of a building where a militant was sniping at Ghost, Chemo, and Rocket at the other side of the lot. Keeping in mind the amount of recoil on the UMP .45, he fired three short bursts at the man. The bullets slammed into him, killing him instantly.

They continued to fire into the ranks of the militia as they attempted to flank around them on the roofs and rush them on the ground. RPG fire and bullets flew around the lot, destroying cars and blowing the concrete of the lot to rubble. There were three militants standing on the roof of a shack, so Roach took out a frag grenade, pulled the pin, and through it into the shack. It detonated, bringing down the support beams of the shack and collapsing it underneath them. Suddenly, the gate at the end of the lot burst open and two white pickup trucks with machine guns flew into the area, firing at them with their heavy weapons. MacTavish loaded a grenade into his launcher, fired it at the first pickup, and destroyed it. If flew into the wall of buildings behind it. Roach shot the man driving the second technical and then turned to the man firing the machine gun.

"Let's go!" MacTavish yelled. They ran through the gate and down the street ahead. More militants ran in front of them, but the Task Force was prepared and killed them before they could fire any shots. As they ran into the main courtyard, three more militants ran onto the roof and shot at them with AK47s. Roach knew the weapons just by the sound of the gunshots. He slid behind an old oven and fired at them with his UMP .45. As they fell, MacTavish ordered Ghost, Chemo, and Rocket to take the main road while he and Roach flanked the militants from the left side.

The militants fought them every step of the way as they made their way to the LZ. When they made their way to the marketplace, they found it to be crawling with militants and even their vicious German Shepherds. Bullets flew around them as they dove for cover.

"Why don't these wankers just give up?" Roach cried.

"I guess that was something that Rojas didn't teach them," Ghost replied over the gunfire, then turned to fire at the militants with his ACR. "That or they're not smart enough."

"What do you think?" Roach asked as he shot at a militant and his dog rushing for them. Ghost shrugged.

"I'm guessing it's a bit of both," Ghost said. Roach smiled and continued to shoot at the militants as they fired at them from the shacks and stores in the marketplace. Foods blew to pieces as they were hit by flying bullets. Roach thought at one point that MacTavish had been hit when he saw red liquid on his face with a few chunks in it, but it was really just the interior of a watermelon that exploded in front of him. When they finally cleared out the marketplace, they began to run at full speed to the back. They cut through the buildings and ran into a large courtyard and public playground. A large helicopter flew over the courtyard.

"There's Nikolai's Pavelow!" MacTavish yelled above the sound of the rotating blades. The Pavelow was an extremely large helicopter capable of carrying many people at once as well as being very maneuverable and battle hardened and ready for action. "Nikolai, we're here! Can you lower the ramp for us?"

"Da, Captain MacTavish!" Nikolai called into the radio. He lowered the ramp and slowly began to lower down. Then, there was a large crack and an RPG rocket flew into the side of the Pavelow. The helicopter flew out of control, flying just over the heads of Task Force 141. They ducked down as Nikolai fought to regain control of the Pavelow.

"It's too hot!" Nikolai screamed as he rose above the courtyard. "We will not survive this landing!"

"Nikolai just wave off!" MacTavish cried. "We'll meet you at the secondary LZ at the back of the village!"

"Roger that!" Nikolai replied, rising above the buildings. "Good luck!" More militants rushed into the area, firing at their small group. As soon as the fight began, though, it was done, and they climbed the rooftops of the village. Most of the shacks and houses were made of wood and metal, the ceilings simply made of old metal plating on the tops. More bullets flew after them, but they continued to run away from them.

"My friend, from up here it looks as though the entire village is trying to kill you!" Nikolai informed them. MacTavish grunted an affirmative.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," MacTavish growled as he leaped over a gap between the buildings. "Just be ready to pick us up!" The Pavelow flew ahead of them and to the end of buildings at the other side of the street. "Jump for it!" MacTavish yelled. They jumped to the lower rooftop below. Roach, however, misjudged his leap and he fell down, grabbing the edge of the building by his fingertips. He began to slip, but MacTavish jumped to him. Roach made a grab for his outstretched hand, but missed it by mere millimeters. He couldn't hold on and fell to the ground and into blackness.

"Roach, wake up!" MacTavish screamed into the radio. "Wake up, you've got to move!"

"Roach, we can see them from the chopper and there's dozens of them!" Ghost yelled frantically. "You have to meet us at the back of the buildings and meet us on the rooftops near the edge of the favela!" Roach could see the shadows-and even the militants who owned them-walk towards them, twirling their guns and looking for him. He pushed himself to his feet and forced himself to run as they opened fire on him. The bullets flew through the walls as he sprinted through the favela.

MacTavish couldn't see him, so it was essential that he get to the rooftops as quickly as possible so he could provide the cover that Roach needed. He ran through the buildings, stone, metal, wood, and many other materials making up the houses and shacks. He found a staircase and sprinted up the house and onto the metal rooftops. Nikolai yelled that the gas was low in his Pavelow, and that he only had thirty seconds to make it to the Pavelow. He sprinted faster and faster to get to the LZ at the back favela.

He slid down the metal rooftops and he smashed through a thin layer of glass allowing him access into a small stone building in front of him. He sprinted onto the balcony and Nikolai's Pavelow appeared in front of him. A rope ladder was hanging from the Pavelow. He sprinted ahead and made a mighty jump for the rope. He flailed his arms to catch it. His fingers met the rope rungs and he clutched onto it.

"We've got him!" MacTavish yelled, poking his head out of the latch.

"Where to now, my friend?" Nikolai asked as Roach looked out over the horizon of Rio De Janeiro.

"Just get us to the sub." MacTavish replied.

**Well, that's all I can write until after Christmas. Thanks for reading and make sure to review the story! **


	10. Ch 9: Exodus

"Exodus"

Day 4-18:51:57 Hours, 2016

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Arcadia, United States

_The buzzer was screeching on the television screen. It was a nationwide broadcast, warning the people of America of the evacuation. It was prioritizing all of the people on the borders of the country first as the Russians were attacking them first. New York, D.C., the Carolinas, California, and countless other states were getting hit. _Hard_. The entire USMC fleet was defending Los Angeles as best as they could, but the Russians seemed to have predicted their every move, tearing through their defenses. It was like D-Day on American soil._

_ The whole of the United States military, the Navy SEALs, the USMC, the Rangers, the Air Force, and every other battalion, regiment, and army was recalled to America from all existing deployments. Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and a few of the countries in Africa were all evacuated to bring back their boys to help defend the states from invading forces. The civilians in the country were being evacuated to bases in their allied countries of Mexico and Canada-the north went to Canada, the South went to Mexico. There was absolutely nothing keeping the air raids from attacking the evacuation craft, though. One attack killing about two thousand civilians in Moscow led Russia to kill one million civilians for every dead one in Zakhaev National Airport._

_ School children were being taught to take cover if the Russians got close enough, evacuating the students to bunkers underneath the buildings. The evacuations were-and much to General Shepherd's annoyance-taking extremely long to go underway. The only thing he could do, however, was wait and see if the evac was getting any quicker. Unfortunately, the majority of the helicopters were needed for the war effort, making the evacuation even slower than what Shepherd needed and wanted. After a few moments of talking to Sergeant Foley on the radio, he couldn't take the buzzer anymore and whipped around angrily._

_ "Will you turn that damn TV off?" Shepherd growled. His assistant nodded and clicked it off. "Sergeant Foley, my Task Force is out of the country so for the time being I'm commandeering your unit."_

_ "Yes, sir," Foley replied. "We're all yours, sir. We're proceeding into Arcadia now but we're being met with heavy resistance."_

_ "You're in luck, Sergeant," Shepherd replied, bringing up a 3D image of a large tank. It resembled a BTR, but it was far stronger and heavily armed and armored. "I've requisitioned a Striker from the 8__th__ Armored Division. She'll walk you in as you proceed into Arcadia."_

_ "The Honey Badger's a mean bitch, sir," Foley said. "We'll make sure to use her effectively."_

_ "Good, I'm counting on you boys," Shepherd said. "If we don't get the Russians off our lands, America's already lost this war."_

A missile flew over Ramirez's head, smashing into the front of the house in behind him. Wood and stone flew in all directions, flying around him. He dove to the ground, covering his face while his helmet protected the rest of his head. He looked up to see the Russians advancing on their positions, shooting their AK47s at them. They had many other weapons of many different classes: Assault Rifles, Submachine Guns, Light Machine Guns, Medium Machine Guns, and various other weapons. The AK47, however, was their main weapon of choice aside from the AK74u Submachine gun. Ramirez didn't know what was shooting at him, but they were chipping the bricks and rock away from the houses around him. In other words, he didn't want to feel what those bullets felt like on human flesh.

The Striker rolled down the street past him, firing its cannons at the Russians in the houses and on the streets. Ramirez pushed himself to his feet and picked up his SCAR-H. The under slung shotgun was gone, now replaced with experimental laser targeting technology as his shotgun had run clear out of ammunition. Ramirez advanced down the streets, firing shots at the Russians in front of him, but his bullets were not of the same build as the AK47s and AK74us. Whatever bullets the Russians were using, they must have had FMJ sharpened tips that allowed for advanced bullet penetration. Ramirez's SCAR-H could penetrate thin materials such as wood, plaster, and sheet metal, but only the very thin types. He compensated for decreased penetration with more ammunition, which he would trade for any day. Except for now.

A bullet flew through wooden fence he was taking cover by. Ramirez swore and switched on the target locater. He called to the Striker through his radio for a target position. They complied, telling him to laze the target for them. He clicked on the laser sight and leaned out of cover. He pointed the laser at the yellow house they were taking cover in. He kept it there for several seconds before asking if the Striker had seen his lazing. They confirmed that they had seen it and the massive cannon on top of the Striker swiveled to the yellow house. The turbines spun up and fired continuous cannon rounds at the house. They tore through the infrastructure, tearing it to pieces and obliterating it. The Russians inside screamed in alarm and pain, but by the time they realized that they had been compromised, it was too late.

"Is this all they got?" Dunn asked. Ramirez may have had his troubles, but he couldn't help but agree with him. The Russians were either not trained very well or the Striker was really far more powerful than any of them had anticipated. The massive vehicle had its own shielding defense system that kept it from harm as it rolled down the streets.

"Don't get too cocky, Corporal," Foley warned as the Rangers walked down the street. "We still have to get into Arcadia."

"How far is it again?" Dunn asked.

"Less than a klick north of here," Ramirez said. "Unless we run into some real trouble, I'm guessing that we'll be there in about ten minutes tops." Foley nodded and motioned for them to follow him down the street. At first, they didn't run into any trouble. None worth mentioning, that is. The Striker continued down the street, rumbling closer and closer to the gates of Arcadia. Suddenly, a rocket flew from the window of an apartment building and smashed into the shields of the Striker. One rocket wasn't a problem, but when a volley of rockets fired at the same time its shields began to dwindle.

"We can't sustain this RPG fire!" The driver yelled in a panicked voice. "We have to fall back!"

"Roger that, Honey Badger!" Foley replied. "We'll take care of it, don't take any unnecessary risks! Dunn, Ramirez, follow me! Everyone else, try to set up a staging area ahead!" Everyone complied as Foley, Dunn, and Ramirez ran off to the apartment buildings. The RPG fire followed them, but the inaccuracy of the rockets kept them relatively safe, only taking hits from rubble and debris blown apart from the concrete parking lot as the rockets smashed into it. Foley kicked in the door of the apartment and they ran inside. Immediately, they were met with Russians guarding the hallway. They took cover behind the doorways and columns, trading SCAR-H fire against AK47 fire. Ramirez tossed a frag grenade down the hall and blew the walls, ceiling, and surrounding objects-including the Russians themselves-to charred pieces.

They ran up the hall to the main stairway but found it destroyed by C4 or some other explosive. The only way up to the top floor was the service elevator which was indefinitely a death sentence for them. Dunn, however, seemed to already have that covered as he took out a pack of C4 and stuck it to the floor next to the door. He sent up the elevator and waited for the beep as it got to the top. As soon as it did, he waited two seconds and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled explosion and the sound of screaming up at the top floor. Dust fell from the ceiling and they knew the C4 had done its work. They took the elevator back up anyway, throwing a Flashbang inside and looking at their gruesome handiwork.

Sergeant Foley called in to the Striker to report that the RPG fire had ceased, and a moment later, the massive tank rolled down the street. They climbed out of the windows and down to the parking lot below. As they continued to the gateway, they heard the revving of a machine gun starting up and they realized that the Russians must have commandeered an M5 Sentry Gun. The bullets flew at the Striker with massive force, but the shields held as the cannon turned to fire at the stone wall that it was placed at. The entire security checkpoint in front of Arcadia was a reformed bunker for the Spetsnaz. They were dug in so deeply that the Striker couldn't even clear the area. The checkpoint was reinforced with bulletproof glass and extremely durable walls that kept out the cannon shots and rocket fire from the outside, making it an effective barrier between the Rangers and Arcadia. Ramirez was the most apprehensive of the Rangers. He never mentioned it, but his family lived in Arcadia. He knew not if they had been evacuated-if _anyone_ had been evacuated-but if they were inside, he knew he had to save them. The thought of them gave him strength and he continued on. He ran behind a fountain, but the stone statue in the center of it was blown to pieces by RPG fire. He swore and clicked on his laser target locater and pointed it at an open part of the checkpoint. A few seconds later a cannon fired and the entire interior of the checkpoint went up in flames. Ramirez sprinted inside.

He finished off the rest of the Russians and kicked the back door outside. He ran behind of the other checkpoint stations and cleared them out. The Rangers ran up to him and he joined them as the teams continued into Arcadia. In front of them was a bridge that led into the neighborhood that was-to Ramirez's surprise and relief-still fully intact. Suddenly, a massive airplane flew over them, flames emitting from the wings and fuselage.

"Whoa, look at that," Dunn breathed in utter disbelief. "It's an AC130, bro."

"This is definitely not a good day to be in the Air Force," Ramirez commented.

"You got that right, man,"

"Cut the chatter, boys," Foley growled. "Better to focus on the situation on hand rather than the things that we can't help." It was a grim statement, but true nonetheless. As they exited the bridge, bullets flew from all directions. They crouched behind a stone wall underneath a large hedge. They stood up to return fire, but they were already dug in the burning homes. Ramirez fired at a gray car that a Russian was hiding behind, and then took cover. Wait, He thought. I know that car! He took a closer-if not brief-look at the car and realized it was his father's car. It sat next to a large brown house. Fire sprouted from the sides. Ramirez, noticing immediately that it was his family's house, leaped over the hedge and sprinted towards it. He absentmindedly noted that Foley was screaming for him to get back there, but ignored him. The garage was sealed shut, so he rounded to the side of the house and broke in the window with the butt of his gun.

He climbed inside and found himself in the game room. There was a pool table in the center of the room, a TV on the wall that was sparking and sputtering from a bullet shot to the side. He aimed his weapon inside and walked through house with stiff limbs. There were three Russians inside that he shot down to lie in pools of blood. He continued up the stairs and kicked in each and every door until he reached his own room. He kicked in the door and his heart shattered. Inside was his family-his wife, his daughter, his mother, and his father lying on the bloodied floor. _Dead_. They were dead. _All dead_. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He had trouble breathing as tears streamed down his face. He gasped as he tried to take a labored breath of air but couldn't find his air. He lied on the ground and sobbed into the carpeted ground uncontrollably. He heard a small groan. He looked up through his blurring eyes and found his father on the ground, moving his head. He dragged himself forward and sat next to him.

He noticed that he was in front of all of the rest of his family, a knife clutched in his old, wrinkled hand. He had tried to protect them. He held his father's hand as he tried to take in a breath. Three nasty bullet wounds-two to his stomach, one to the side of his chest-leaked blood on his body and the floor.

"Dad," Ramirez whimpered. "Can you hear me?" At first, his father didn't say anything. After a few moments, he turned his eyes to meet his. They both had bright blue eyes.

"James," he breathed. "I'm sorry-I failed."

"No, Dad," Ramirez replied, shaking his head. "It's not your fault. I should have been here. Come on, I'm getting you out of here."

"I can't, James," he replied sorrowfully. "I'm proud of y-you." With that, Ramirez's father died in his arms. Ramirez cried and yelled in pain and anguish. He heard the loading of an AK47 behind him and felt the metal barrel press against his head. His eyes filled with an insatiable rage and he whipped behind, grabbing the AK47 from him and smashing the butt of the gun into the Russian's nose. He clutched his face but Ramirez wouldn't allow him to. He tackled the man with a roar and slammed him to the ground, grabbing his throat and slamming his head to the ground. He punched the Russian in the face repeatedly, causing blood to leak from his face.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Ramirez screeched, beating him more and more. He drew his knife from its sheathe and sank it into the man's stomach. He screamed in agony and Ramirez tore it out. He stabbed him again in the wrists, then his ankles, and again into his stomach.

"Ramirez!" Foley yelled as he and Dunn ran up the stairs. "Ramirez, stop!"

"YOU NEVER GAVE THEM A CHANCE YOU BASTARD!" Ramirez yelled, stabbing him again. The man screamed and screamed, tears falling from his eyes. "I'M GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU!"

"Ramirez, it's over!" Dunn tore Ramirez off of the Russian and took the knife from his stomach. Ramirez struggled against him, trying to attack the man again, but Foley finished it with a shot to the forehead. Foley looked angered, but didn't say anything once he saw the massacre inside of the bedroom. Ramirez breathed heavily as he stared at the bloodied, mutilated corpse of the Russian. He hated them with every fiber of his being. He wanted to do the same to each and every one of them as he did to the man before him. He yanked the knife away from Dunn and slid it in its sheathe. Ramirez grabbed the SCAR-H off the ground and punched the wall, swearing violently.

He stalked past a shocked Foley and Dunn and outside. The rest of the mission in Arcadia seemed as though it took an eternity. Ramirez remained a bitter shell of the soldier he was earlier. Everyone avoided Ramirez as though he carried the plague, frightened of him. No one had ever expected a man like him to become such a monster that would torture a man in such a horribly gruesome way. When Foley and Dunn told them why he did it though, there was a type of grim understanding amongst the Rangers, though that didn't mean that they had to necessarily like what he did. As they fought their way through a large house-whose occupants were clearly rolling in money-they saw two sets of AA (Anti-Aircraft) Guns firing up at the sky at the Air Force. They were probably the cause of the AC130 crashing.

Ramirez targeted the first set of cannons at the middle of a nearby golf course with his laser designator. A few moments later, a bomb flew from an F18 Bomber and destroyed the cannons, as well as formed what could probably be a new sand trap in the middle of the course about ten feet in depth and forty in width. The only reason that the F18s couldn't destroy the AA Guns earlier was due to the fact that there was no clear view of them. The smoke caused from countless fires blanketed the sky, blocking the ground from view and forcing the Rangers to mark targets for the Air Force. Unfortunately, they were not able to get there in time and many of their fly boys were killed before they could mark the targets.

The second gun went up in flames, the cannon flipping over and landing on the tee. At least, Ramirez thought bitterly. No one else is going to get killed here. They stood around, Ramirez leaning against a wall and taking deep breaths, trying to forget what had transpired over the mission. He still didn't even know what Russia was so angry about that they decided to invade their country. No matter what he tried, however, he couldn't get the image of his dead family out of his head. Foley was talking on the radio to command, but he didn't have the heart to listen. He hardly had a heart left at all.

"Roger that, Overlord," Foley said. "What's our mission objective?"

"Sergeant Foley, this is General Shepherd," a new voice came over the radio. He sounded like he must be in his mid-fifties, only a few years younger if he was. "You're to travel to four-six-seven-seven Brookmere Road to extract a High Value Individual from a panic room of that house. His call sign is 'Icepick', counter sign is 'Phoenix'. Get him out of there and report back to me, over."

"Affirmative, sir, we're heading there now!" He motioned for everyone to move further into Arcadia. They crossed another bridge and came across the crashed AC130-directly inside of a house. They picked their way around the scattered plane parts and burning pieces of earth. Foley looked at a mailbox in front of the house. It read 4677 on the side of it. Foley looked at the house and motioned for them to move inside. Ramirez noticed a Russian picking inside of a refrigerator in the kitchen, so he raised his SCAR-H and fired, killing the man. They moved up the stairs and Foley called for Icepick. There was no response. They noticed that the back door was wide open, hanging precariously on its broken hinges. Ramirez cautiously walked inside and found a bloody body of a Russian man inside. He picked his way over him and into the side room. Another man in a tuxedo lied on the ground, a bullet wound on his chest.

"That's weird," Ramirez muttered. "No sign of a forced entry." He picked up the briefcase sitting next to the second man and walked into the first room that Dunn and Foley were waiting in.

"Check this out," Dunn said as he examined the body of the first man. He was wearing dark clothes, but it was not the uniform of the Spetsnaz. He had tattoos on his body, but not the kind that normal people wore. They were violent and disturbing, snakes impaled with stakes and knives hissing and attacking each other and humans that were being strangled in their coiled grip. There was an insignia of a deformed Spetsnaz flag on his chest. "Not your average tats, hoorah?"

"Hoorah," Foley replied. "Shepherd's not going to like this. Get whatever evidence you can find; we're leaving," Foley clicked on his radio and called Command. "Overlord, the HVI is dead."

**Well, I had some free time so I decided to write this chapter. I won't be uploading as frequently because I'm going to start making more Youtube videos to post on my channel as well as use whatever I get for Christmas. Anyway, Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy whatever you enjoy tomorrow morning!**


	11. Ch 10: The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

**Sorry for taking so long to update guys, I've just been playing a lot of Halo Anniversary and making Youtube videos with my brand new Roxio Game Capture! Anyhow, I'm back now with the third to last mission of Act 2: Apocalypse with this new chapter!**

"The Only Easy Day . . . Was Yesterday"

Day 5 – 05:38:46

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

Vikhorevka 36 Oil Platform, Russia

"_It's your turn, yank," Roach said, looking at the American soldier in front of him. He was beginning to get annoyed with Roach; he wasn't even from New York, yet he continuously called him a yank! He was a fan of the Detroit Tigers, not the wannabe New York Yankees. Only his self-control kept him from lashing out at Roach. He looked down at the black and white checkerboard. They had been in Nikolai's massive Pave Low for several hours now, so they began playing a game of chess to pass the time. Unfortunately for everyone else, Roach was even better at chess than he was at fighting, and even then he exceeded all of them save for Ghost and MacTavish._

_ He looked down and noticed that Roach had moved his Queen up in what was a particularly vulnerable position for his own Queen to attack from the side. He moved his Queen closer to his, but his King of which he had not noticed at the time, moved onto the place of his Queen and killed her. He scowled and slammed his fists on the table top. Three times in a row now he'd lost to Roach, and it was getting more and more annoying. Roach leaned back with a satisfied grin and rested his head in his hands behind his head._

_ "Well, I guess we know where this is going from here," Roach said with his eyes closed. "You only have your King left while I have half of my army still perfectly intact." _

_ "I know you're cheating somehow," he snarled. "And I'm keen to figure out how!"_

_ "You yanks always think that someone's cheating whenever you don't have your way," Ghost said from his cot on the side of the Pave Low. They sat in an uneasy silence that prolonged until they heard the voice of Captain MacTavish near the cockpit of the Pave Low. _

_ "I just don't understand, sir," MacTavish said into the radio. "Shouldn't we be coming back to the fight?"_

_ "Don't worry about it," an older man replied. "There's enough fight to go around that I'd be surprised if a few more countries got involved."_

_ "Let us hope it doesn't get to that," MacTavish said as he beckoned everyone over to a small table. He clicked a button and the 'table' lit up showing a holographic display in front of them. A large black and white image appeared as it rose up and out of the machine as a three dimensional holographic transmission. _

_ "Men, this is General Shepherd if you haven't already noticed," the man said, his voice projected from the machine. "I've been discussing the issue of the war with Captain MacTavish. I'm sending coordinates to your pilot for the location of the Sixth Fleet. You're going to be helping in leading the counterstrike against Russia. The intel that you've acquired from Rojas has confirmed that the guy Makarov's got the mad-on for is Prisoner 627, but we can't get to him." A new image appeared on the hologram. It projected a view of the Bering Strait near Russia. It zoomed in to a 3D image of an Oil Rig._

_ "Oil rigs, sir?" Ghost asked._

_ "The Russians are using them as SAM sites to take out the air force and our UAV surveillance," Shepherd replied. "The engineers and workers are being held hostage by the Russians as human shields which is why we didn't just blow up the rigs wholesale. Now boys, I know that I'm sending you into the meat-grinder on this one, but-"_

_ "They have it which means that we want it," MacTavish cut in. "Especially if it gets us closer to 627."_

"This is USS Chicago Actual to Dry-Dock Shelter, we have a go." The Captain of the submarine reported to all of the other subs in the currently-submerged Sixth Fleet. They and all of the Task Force 141 had joined forces for the counter attack on Eastern Russia. Most of the men in the men in the fleet were American, so having so many different people from the 141 was to say the least, a trying experience. Some had trouble understanding the accents of some of the soldiers, whilst the 141 had had years of experience with them.

Roach was clinging onto a miniature launcher that they had nicknamed 'The Shooter'. He, Ghost, MacTavish, and Chemo were riding the same Shooter. They were inside of a large compartment on the top of the sub that was filled with the water of the Pacific Ocean, so they sat there in their seats built into the Shooter, floating in ice-cold water. The insulated gear they wore did nothing to help them at all save for keep their bodies dry. The only thing that really worked was their breathing apparatuses that allowed them to stay in the water for one standard hour before the oxygen tanks gave up.

Roach shivered in his seat, making sure that the straps that held his M4A1 SOPMOD (an M4A1 Assault Rifle with the Red Dot Sight, under slung Grenade Launcher, and muzzle flash suppressor) and his SCAR-H with a brand new version of the Thermal Sight were secure on his body. The Shooter moved at incredible speeds through water, and he didn't want to risk losing any of his equipment in the ocean. His frags and Flashbangs were secure in the satchel that he tied to his left leg.

After a few minutes of waiting, they heard a creaking sound and the latch in front of them moved outward, showing them a view of the ocean. MacTavish stood up and nodded to them to make sure that they were secure in their seats. Roach readjusted his grip on the metal bar in front of him and sat straight in his seat. The Shooter launched forward, cutting through the water ahead. As they shot out and away from the USS Chicago, they noticed an enormous iceberg to their immediate left. It was a blue-green hue as algae grew on the bottom of it, large patches of ice showing underneath. Small fish that looked like they might be cod or krill were feeding off of the algae growing on its sides, darting away as the Shooter flew past them.

Roach was in awe of the underwater world around him. Below, he saw a Humpbacked whale, heard its resounding voice echoing through the eddies and underwater currents of the ocean, calling for food or mates. Roach was not sure which of the two it was calling for, but didn't so much care as to what it was meant for, but rather what the beautiful sound it produced.

"This is the USS Dallas," the captain of the second submarine reported in the radio. "We're launching Team Two now." Their shooter flew past the second sub, meeting up with the second shooter that held Rocket, a new member of their, an African American man who requested his nickname to be 'Worm' as well as two more men that Roach had not met yet.

As their shooter flew up behind them, Rocket looked back and made a hand gesture to see if everyone on their shooter was alright. MacTavish gave him a thumbs-up to signal that they were all secure and they turned back to look ahead. Through the dark blue water they could see dark metal beams that were already infested with underwater crustaceans and strange growths growing on its sides. There were long beams that stretched far down to the ocean floor to siphon oil from the bottom of the ocean floor. They had reached the oil rig.

The shooters powered down and MacTavish turned to motion that they were swim upward to the bottom of the rig. Roach pulled himself from his seat and pushed upward, swimming to the lower platform at the top. When he surfaced, he saw two Russians talking to each other. He drew his knife and silently swam toward one. MacTavish was on the other side behind the other. MacTavish nodded to Roach and he grabbed the Russian on his side, dragging him into the water. The other one looked shocked and gave Roach the chance to do the same. He struggled, trying to break free of Roach's grip but he slit his throat with his knife before he could get the chance to resurface and call the alarm.

He pushed the lifeless corpse to the bottom of the ocean and swam upward again, sheathing his knife. Two of the Task Force 141 were waiting and helped him upward. He tugged off his gear and laid it on the platform. He followed MacTavish and Ghost up the metal stairs to the first deck of the ship. One of the Russians was leaning on railing, smoking a cigarette. Roach dropped him, his body falling over the edge and into the water below. To their left was an old storage room. They could see the shadows of people inside. Roach took out a frame charge from his satchel and he stuck it to the wooden door.

MacTavish formed up next to him and nodded to Roach. He pulled the detonator and the frame charge exploded, the door disintegrating to nothing more than ash and splintered parts. They whipped inside and shot down the Russians before they could kill the hostages inside. The men were strapped to chairs, their feet, hands, mouths, and eyes were all bound by leather and wire. The Task Force rushed in, Rocket, and the two other Americans stayed behind to search the complex lower deck and secure the hostages, leaving the next three decks to MacTavish, Roach, Ghost, and Worm.

"Control, this is Team One," MacTavish reported. "We've secured the hostages on deck one and are moving up to deck two."

"Roger that, Hotel Six," The commander replied. "Team Two will secure and evac the hostages while you clear it topside, over."

"Keep your eyes open and watch your sectors," MacTavish told them as they continued up the stairs to the second deck.

"Hotel Six, I recommend you keep a low profile," Control warned. "There's an enemy helo patrolling the area, over." As if on cue, a Little Bird helicopter flew around the oil rig, shining a large spotlight on their position. They hid behind crates and fuel canisters, and luckily, they helo didn't catch sight of them. They continued on and breached another storage room. When they were all inside, a Russian's voice came over the intercom.

"Enemy radio," Ghost said. "Something tells me we're going to have company, sir."

"Roger that, let's get C4 on those bodies," MacTavish said, cutting loose one of the hostages. "But make sure that the hostages are out of the line of fire. Team Two will follow up and secure these hostages." They nodded and grabbed the hostages one by one, dragging them to a part of the deck that was secured by railings so that they wouldn't try to escape and accidentally roll off the platform and into the Pacific Ocean.

Roach placed a pack of C4 on the body of one of the Russian Spetsnaz and ran from the room, taking cover on top of a small lookout. They waited impatiently for the patrol to arrive. The frigid air was beginning to freeze Roach's skin and he began to shiver uncontrollably, forcing him to make an effort to keep himself still. Suddenly, he caught movement as the gate at the end of the storage room opened. Ten Russians walked through it and unlocked the door to the storage room.

MacTavish held up his hand to make sure that Roach didn't do anything stupid that would get them killed. Roach pulled out the detonator all the same, apprehensive for the inevitable fight that was about to be unleashed. As soon as they were all in, MacTavish closed his fingers into a fist and pulled it down, signaling that he was to push the pin. The storage room erupted into a ball of flame, the wooden walls blown to pieces, glass and metal shards skittering across the edge of the deck.

Immediately, the alarm sounded and their cover was blown. MacTavish ran ahead with Roach, Ghost, and Worm following close behind him. AK47 fire stopped them in their tracks as Russians rushed down from the upper decks to make sure that they didn't make it to the top. MacTavish reported that their cover was blown and returned fire with the Russians. Control reported that there were still hostages being held on the top deck, which meant that they absolutely needed to get there. Unfortunately for them, the Russians were dug in deeper than a snake residing in its underground realm. Roach tried to think as the Russians fired at them. It was an oil rig which meant that half of the things on it were extremely flammable and could explode easily. It was risky, but he switched his M4A1 SOPMOD settings to this M203 Grenade Launcher. He arced the trajectory of the launcher and fired the grenade at them. It hit a fuel pipe with exploded and annihilated the entire section of the deck, killing the Russians instantaneously.

They ran up to the walkway only to be met with the Little Bird. Roach instinctively raised his M4A1 and fired the grenade at the bird. It hit right between the propellers and destroyed it. It imploded from within and detonated the Little Bird. The blackened, smoking wreckage of the helicopter crashed onto the deck of the rig and they advanced further to the third deck of the ship. Once again, the enemies were dug. Fortunately, Ghost carried a SOPMOD as well and made short work of the men firing on them. On the fourth deck, however, they didn't see anyone.

"Think that was all of them, sir?" Ghost asked. An RPG flew over them, missing their heads by inches.

"I'm guessing not!" Roach replied. They dove to cover behind crates, boxes, and metal beams littered across the deck. Small canisters flew from the windows of the upper rig and detonated, smoke flying from them in all directions.

"They're a step up!" MacTavish yelled. "They're probably using thermal optics to see through the smoke! If you have anything thermal, now's the time!" Roach-whom had been running dangerously low on ammunition in his M4A1 anyway-pulled out his SCAR-H Assault Rifle. The attached thermal scope could see perfectly through the smoke. The difference between the new version he had equipped and the old version was the fact that with the new version he could see objects painted through it as well in black and white whereas the old models were only able to see people or animals that gave off heat signatures.

It didn't take long for them to clear the top deck-most of the Russians had engaged them on the lower decks and they were able to make it through the smoke screen.

"Hotel Six, there are confirmed hostages as well as explosive materials confirmed inside the control room. Watch your fire!" Control called over the radio.

"Roger that, we're not in a hurry to blow ourselves up either," MacTavish said. He and Roach placed another frame charge on the door and detonated it. With the few bullets Roach had left in his M4A1, he whipped inside. A man with a knife rushed towards him. He fired a shot to his head and turned to the other Russians. He took each of them out with two shots to the upper chest and the room was cleared.

"Control, this is Hotel Six," MacTavish breathed. "The rig is secure and the hostages are ready for evac."

"Copy that, Hotel Six," Control replied. "Get to our transports, we're the other teams are ready as well." They walked to the back of the rig and to the landing pad where a Little Bird was waiting for them. Roach, Ghost, and MacTavish sat on the lower rail, each placing a hand on the supports behind them. There were no railings in front of them, so a single lurch of the Little Bird would send them all hundreds of meters down to the ocean below. Worm sat inside and took their weapons, loading them with new magazines and handing them back. He had no ammunition for Roach's SCAR-H, so he handed him an M21 EBR Sniper Rifle with a variable zoom scope and suppressor attached to it.

The Little Bird flew from the pad as more of the SEAL teams rappelled down to the deck to secure the hostages and disable the SAM sites. As the Little Bird flew on, it formed up with thirty more helicopters, each carrying about ten Task Force 141 specialists, Marines, and NAVY SEALs to attack the Russian Gulag. Icebergs and glaciers shown brilliantly on the darkened waters of the ocean, and Roach looked forward to the Russian landmass. They would be there by noon, and it was going to be a very busy day.

"This is Control," the commander said on the radio. "All teams, Operation Blue Sky is now in effect. I repeat, Blue Sky is in effect. The Air Force will be there to assist in the assault on the Gulag. It's time for some payback!"


	12. Ch 11: The Gulag

"The Gulag"

Day 5 – 07:42:59

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

30 Miles East of Patropavlosk, Russia

"_The Sixth Fleet is mopping up," Captain MacTavish announced. "It's time for us to move in." The Task Force 141, Marines, NAVY SEALs, and the US Air Force, were all seated in the briefing room in the lower deck of the Aircraft Carrier, _Victorious_. In front of them was MacTavish, giving them the briefing with General Shepherd. The screen on the wall zoomed in on a small peninsula of land jutting out from Russia, a large structure built on the top of its massive, rocky ledges that led down nearly four hundred standard meters to the ocean below, as well as hundreds of jagged rocks at the bottom._

_ The holographic display zoomed in on the building itself, which was revealed to be a massive castle. The hologram was moved into a smaller box next to an old painting of the same building many centuries prior the present condition it was in. _

_ "This building has a long history," General Shepherd said._

_ "Aye and not much of it is pretty," MacTavish added. "It started out as a castle with an actual dungeon. The walls were built to withstand any siege and even to this day are still reinforced enough to take multiple volleys of missiles. The building survived every brutal winter; the occupants, though, they weren't so lucky."_

_ The holographic image of the castle-The Gulag-began to take on several new features as it portrayed modernized emission towers built around the top of the castle, SAM turrets placed on the rooftops of the stone towers near the five emission towers. A large landing platform in the central courtyard was fenced in while streets inside of it allowed armored vehicles, mobile SAMs, and tanks to roll down them and keep the interior of the Gulag secure. The interior of the Gulag was more and more complex, including a new shower room built for the Russians occupying the castle, electric cell doors in the dungeon, and several full armories. The place was a gigantic fortress, no less of a military base. _

_ "The monastery didn't survive the purges," Captain MacTavish continued. "Over the last century it's played host to anyone the Russian government didn't want but couldn't kill. The whole damn place is filled with living casualties of the last war which I swear I thought we'd won," he said the last part with a short laugh. "But I suppose it's all just a day at the races; you back the losing horse and this is where you end up. Well, if Prisoner 627 is the piece of meat that Makarov wants, then we're going to cut him loose!"_

"Thirty seconds!" MacTavish yelled over the rotating propellers of the Little Bird that he, Roach, Ghost, Worm, Chemo, and Rocket were riding. They were looking out over the Pacific Ocean and the snow-covered ground of Russia. Ice flows drifted in the ocean below, the dark water and bright flows of solid ice reflected against the sun making everything look like an exotic silver hue. Three more Little Birds flew alongside them as the rest of the fleet refueled with the NAVY. The Air Force, however, were already flying alongside them.

Roach pulled out his M21 EBR and made sure that the magazine was inserted correctly and the safety was switched off. He hefted his EBR and looked down to see an F22 Fighter Jet flying directly below them. Another flew right next to it, both flying forward. The jet engines on the back glowed bright blue and purple as they fired ahead. Then in perfect unison, they each fired two missiles at the SAM location on a small island directly in front of the Gulag.

The missiles smashed into the post and obliterated the small island. They flew off as the Little Birds carrying the Task Force 141 flew through the smoke and towards the massive castle of the Gulag. They flew upward and the Little Birds began to open fire with their machine guns on the sides and at the control towers built on the perimeter of the Gulag. The Little Bird stopped in midflight and stabilized, allowing Roach, Ghost, and MacTavish to fire down at one of the stone towers and take out the Russians on the stone towers.

They quickly and efficiently cut down the Russians manning the SAM turret on the top of the tower. The Little Bird moved on around the large command center that took over what was left of the monastery. They were about to fire on the next tower when two missiles flew past them and smashed into the tower and destroyed it. Chunks of stone flew everywhere and smashed into the Little Bird. The helicopter flew sideways and began to bank off course as the F22 flew past them.

"Shepherd, you've got to get those fighters to cease fire!" MacTavish yelled into the radio communication link. "That explosion was far too close to our position!"

"I'll try to buy you men some time," he replied. "One man in the Gulag doesn't mean much to the NAVY at this point."

"Oh those bloody yanks!" Ghost snarled. "To think that they're the good guys!"

"Ghost cut the chatter and stay frosty!" MacTavish ordered. Ghost complied as they regained stability and flew with the other Little Birds into the courtyard and landing on the pad. They exited the helicopter and ran outside as F22s bombarded the area around them, destroying armored vehicles and tanks in the process. Roach slung his EBR to his back and took out his M4A1 SOPMOD as he ran forward behind MacTavish, Ghost, and the rest of the 141.

They ran outside of the main gates and into the perimeter of the Gulag. Russians entrenched on the rooftops fired down on them with AK47s and TAR-21s. They took cover behind a stationary mobile SAM tank. A Little Bird flew into the area, firing at the rooftop with its machineguns. The sandbags and stones that they were using for cover shattered and crumbled from the might of the heavy machine guns, barely providing so much as a sheet of paper to take cover behind. Roach peered over the side of the mobile SAM and took potshots at the Russians on the other side of the fence. They took cover in foxholes and small bunkers built into the recesses of the castle, making them both formidable and difficult to dig out. Roach, however, still retained two of his M303 Grenades. He loaded one in the cylinder barrel, cocked the pin, and fired the grenade. Its arc propelled it up and over the heads of the Russians-and into a fuel canister behind them.

The entire side of the courtyard erupted into flame, annihilating the Russians and everything they were using for cover. MacTavish signaled for everyone to follow him as he led the way deeper into the Gulag. Despite the chaos of the battle and the means of use for the ancient structure, Roach admired the design and durability of the castle save for what the Russians added to it. He couldn't begin to fathom what it was like centuries ago when it was first built and used. MacTavish led the way around a bend of homes that the Russians were using as outposts and makeshift barracks and towards a tunnel.

"Alright, these tunnels should lead to the dungeon," MacTavish said, looking at the schematics sheet in his hands. "We go in, grab Prisoner 627, and we bang out. Is everyone clear?" They all nodded and then continued on their way. Four Spetsnaz ran up the stairs, only to be met with M4A1 fire from the six Task Force soldiers. They continued onto a large walkway that hung precariously over the dungeon. Roach stole a glance downward and saw what he suspected was a two hundred meter drop to the bottom. It greatly unnerved him to be on a walkway literally supported by chains hung from the ceiling.

They entered the control room at the end which was-thankfully-better supported than the walkway. Inside were several computers and ten monitors showing surveillance camera footage of all the other areas of the Gulag.

"Alright, does anyone know how to hack into any of this stuff?" MacTavish asked.

"Ah, Bullocks," Ghost muttered, disappointed.

"Don't worry, Ghost," Roach said good-naturedly. "We'll make sure to leave a few kills for you."

"Right," Ghost growled under his breath. "You all just go ahead, I'll monitor the security cameras for you." MacTavish nodded, thankful for his assistance while they searched the dungeons for 627. They ran down the metal walkway to the first floor of the dungeon areas. A spotlight flickered and turned on from the control room, lighting up the area ahead. In the light were several Russians, shielding their eyes from the rays. The five of them raised their weapons and fired on them.

The metal door in front of them was lit by a red light, but with Ghost's assistance, it turned blue and allowed them to continue on. They fought the Russians and all the while searched the entire floor but found no sign of 627, nor of any prisoner in the entire floor for that matter. They ran down to the second floor, but once again found no sign of a single prisoner.

"Ghost, all these cells are deserted," MacTavish reported. "What do you got, over?"

"Ah, I see," Ghost replied. "They moved 627 to the detention wing beyond the shower rooms on the fourth floor." MacTavish complied and they headed downward to the armory in the middle of the third floor.

"See anything you like?" MacTavish asked, a grin on his face. Roach looked around and decided to take an AK47 with a GP25 under slung grenade launcher and slung it to his back. MacTavish himself preferred the three-round-burst assault rifle known as the FAMAS with an attached Red Dot Sight on the top. When they had collected weapons and ammunition to their liking, they circled around to the back where the next door was. They needed to hurry, though, as Ghost had recently reported that about twenty-plus foot mobiles were heading for their location.

"Ghost, mind opening the door?" MacTavish asked. A moment later, the door began to creak open when suddenly, it stopped, the mechanical hinges sparking.

"Bloody hell," Ghost said, panicked. "They must have locked it from the hardline. I'll have to run a bypass-"

"IT'S TOO LATE!" MacTavish yelled just as twenty-possibly more-Russians entered the third floor. They dove behind the cover of the metal sides and took shots at the Russians surrounding the armory. The bullets began to puncture the metal and fly inside, one hitting the floor near Chemo. Roach spotted a Riot Shield and grabbed it, putting the protective bulletproof plating in front of him. The others did the same as well and they held out in the center of the armory for a few minutes, crouched in the cover of the shields.

An RPG fired from the control room and obliterated the right section of the dungeon, causing the Russians to fall fifty meters to their deaths. The door opened after a minute that felt like an hour, allowing them to walk out on the walkway and draw the incoming fire from the Russians to their Riot Shields. Roach took point, leading the way and bashing the Russian guards with his shield while the others fired at them from behind.

Chemo, however, was too sure of himself, which led to his own demise. A bullet flew through the armory and smashed into his cranium, killing him instantly. Roach swore and stood up with his second shot from his M203. He fired and destroyed the section of the dungeon the Russians were on, taking vengeance for the death of their comrade. In a moment, it was all over and they were left with no way to get to the fourth floor. They didn't, however, come unprepared. They grabbed their rappel lines and fell down from the third floor and dropped down to the bottom of the fourth floor.

"The security monitors in the hallway of the next section are blank," Ghost reported. "The power must be down in that section."

"Roger that, switch to night vision." MacTavish ordered. They pulled down their night vision goggles and stalked into the hallway. The M4A1s laser sights fired forward as they walked ahead. The Russians were everywhere in the hallway, causing them to search every room. Rocket went inside one but flew outside, bullets smashing into him. He collapsed on the ground, dead before he hit the floor. Roach sprinted inside and smashed the Russian's face with the butt of his gun, then fired at him with his M4A1. He, MacTavish, and Worm were equally shocked that Rocket and Chemo were dead. They continued on, however, not letting their deaths get in the way of their mission. Suddenly, there was a crack and a large explosion as something impacted on the Gulag next to them. Fire and rock fell from the ceiling and the wall of the next hallway. They fell to the ground, covering their heads from the rubble and debris falling from the ceiling.

An F22 flew in front of the opening, firing more missiles into the side of the Gulag. A Black Hawk flew outside and fired into the windows of the hall with high heat saber rounds, causing them to take cover in the other side hallway. Roach, Worm, and MacTavish's faces were freckled with dust and soot from the explosions. They coughed viciously as the dust settled.

"Bloody hell!" MacTavish snarled between coughs. "Shepherd get those bloody fighters to cease fire!" Roach's night vision goggles were destroyed by a falling rock, causing him to search for his AK47 and M4A1 SOPMOD through the thick darkness.

"MacTavish, the Air Force has agreed to stop firing for now," Shepherd replied. "You'll have twenty minutes to find 627 before they begin their primary bombardment. Find the prisoner and bang out as fast as you can, _out_." MacTavish complied, though Roach could tell he was angry with Shepherd for not calling off the Air Force indefinitely. They continued through the halls and into a storage room, but the door ahead was locked.

MacTavish took out a frame charge and stuck it to the wall. They formed up on the wall near the charge. MacTavish detonated the charge, blowing in the wall. They whipped in and fired at the Russians next to the wall. They were now in the old shower rooms. The showers seemed to have taken fire from the Air Force as well; the showers were cracked, water leaked all over and they splashed through it as they worked their way forward. Unfortunately, the bombs didn't dispose of the Russians inside. They were everywhere-there were Russians taking shots at them from the ceiling and others from behind the stone showers.

They fired at the Russians from the showers and up at the top floor where they could keep over watch on the prisoners below, though there was only one prisoner in the entire castle. If the Russians were taking this many precautions to keep 627 from being captured by anyone, then that meant that he was definitely a massive threat to them and Makarov. Who it was, though, Roach couldn't even begin to image. Perhaps he was a war veteran from Afghanistan? Korea? Vietnam? Who knows?

Well, they certainly wouldn't if they couldn't get out of the shower rooms in time. Roach had set the watch on his arm to twenty minutes. They had already wasted six, meaning they only had fourteen minutes left to get 627 and get back out before the bombardment started. They steadily moved forward through the shower rooms, the water now nearly an inch high. Roach's feet were already sodden from the water that was soaking inside of his boots.

Six Russians appeared at the end of the shower rooms, all of them holding Riot Shields. Roach wasn't in the mood for getting bombed, so he fired a shot from his GP25 on the AK47. They flew backward, killed instantly. They sprinted forward to a hole in the floor caused by the bombing. They jumped through and fell into the sewers. Worm scrunched his face in disgust.

"Man, this place smells terrible." He commented. MacTavish and Roach agreed but continued on through the sewers. They ran through the sewers until they reached a dead end.

"Ghost, talk to me!" MacTavish said. "I don't want to be hear when this bombs drop!"

"Roger that," Ghost replied. "I'm detecting two heat signatures on the other side of this wall. One of them should be 627!"

"Alright, now get to the evac chopper," MacTavish ordered. "We'll get this finished." He complied then cut the link. MacTavish stuck a frame charge to the wall and detonated it and Roach whipped inside. There were two people, one a Russian Spetsnaz, and another one who was hidden from view behind the Spetsnaz. The man he couldn't see behind the Russian was strangling the Spetsnaz with a chain. Roach couldn't make much sense of it all as the second man sank a dagger into the Russian's throat. Then, he ran towards Roach and punched him in the face. He fell to the ground and looked back up, met with the muzzle barrel of an AK47.

The man holding him, the one that killed the Russian, was old-probably in his mid-forties. He wore a dark blue hat and tattered clothing. He had a full beard and mustache like MacTavish formerly had, his face full of grit and grime from many days-possibly years by the look of him-of time in the Gulag. He was obviously starved-malnutrition by the looks of it-and dehydrated. He was a gaunt figure, but the most surprising part of him was the three insignias pinned to his vest. The first was the British flag, the second being the thin rectangle that read 'Captain' on it. The third, and most shocking, was the flag that held the skull with a sword through it, two wings raised proudly in the air jutting out from the blade.

The man breathed heavily, a fetid stench from his mouth engulfing Roach's scent. The man looked at Roach for a while, first in anger, then in confusion.

"Who-" he began in a scratchy voice.

"DROP IT!" MacTavish yelled behind the man, pointing an old Colt M1911 at his head. The man became even more confused, then a look of shock and recognition overcame him. "What did I just tell you? I said-"

"Soap?" The man asked, cutting him off. "Is that really you?" Captain MacTavish looked equally confused as was Roach and Worm, who was helping him up on his feet. MacTavish took him by his shoulder and turned him around. For a few minutes, they stared at each other in shock.

"Price?" MacTavish exclaimed. "He looked down at the M1911 and gave it to the man. "I don't know what happened, Price, but I do believe this belongs to you, sir." The man took the pistol from him and looked at it, a glimmer of remembrance in his eyes.

"Alright," Worm spoke up. "Who the hell is Soap?" Before he could answer, the Gulag shook as explosions rocked the surface.

"They've started the bombardment early!" Shepherd cried into the radio. "My chopper is outside the main tunnel, get the hell out of there!" They ran from the room that Prisoner 627-Captain John Price-was being held in and ran down the tunnel. At the end they could see a Black Hawk waiting for them, the shapes of General Shepherd and Ghost standing there waiting for them. They sprinted faster to catch up with the chopper when the ceiling came down in front of them. The rocks crushed Worm, his legs trapped under the heavy stones. Roach ran to go help him when more slabs and rocks fell from the ceiling, completely burying him. He tried in vain to dig him out, but he was effectively trapped inside. No one could have survived the crushing weight of the stone.

"MacTavish grabbed Roach by the arm and led him away as they ran through the hall. One of the Russians was fumbling through the falling rubble and debris. He tried to raise his rifle, but Roach dropped him before he got the chance. They ran into the next room, a large circular chamber. The center was piled high with rubble and a dead bomb that refused to detonate. MacTavish-no, _Soap_-confirmed it as a dud and they looked up through the multiple levels of the Gulag into the sky above.

MacTavish-_no, it's _Soap_ now_, Roach corrected himself-called for an immediate evac from their position. Suddenly, the ceiling came down. Roach looked up and saw it coming right for him. The last thing he saw was rubble and debris falling down, then he tasted blood and his world went black. The last thing he heard was Soap's desperate cry for his name.

**A few minutes later**

He opened his eyes to see Captain Price pulling rocks off of him. Price hefted one particularly large piece off of him, which was definitely surprising for him considering the fact that he looked like he could barely heft a rifle, let alone a large piece of concrete.

"Whatever you're going to do Soap," Price called. "You're going to have to do it fast!" Soap nodded and fired a red flare into the air through the holes in the ceiling.

"We see your flare!" Shepherd called. "We're sending down a SPIE Rig!" He backed away and a moment later, a long wire fell from the ceiling and down to the bottom of the chamber. Price grabbed Roach's hand and helped him towards the rig. They connected their clips to the top of wire of the rig. Roach unclipped one of his backup clips and gave it to Price. He clipped himself to the rig and they looked up through the holes. Suddenly, the rig lurched and they flew up to the top of the Gulag. They looked down at the collapsing castle. Price cried a victory yell that he was finally free of captivity. The entire castle exploded and the fire flew up into the air, engulfing Price, Soap, Roach, and the entire world went black.


	13. Ch 12: Of Their Own Accord

**I'd just like to say thanks to El Comoriano for his great review on this story! Also, I'd like to note that when I mean that at first Roach didn't recognize Price, I meant that his two years in the Gulag had transformed him into a shell of his former self that was nearly unrecognizable, so none of them recognized him at first until he revealed himself to be Price when he recognized Soap. Anyway, let's get on with this chapter, which is-in my opinion-the best level in this game, as well as gaming history!**

"Of Their Own Accord"

Day 5 – 18:35:06

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn.. 75th Ranger Regiment

Washington D.C., USA

_THIS IS AN NATIONAL EMERGENCY BROADCAST_

_/PRINCE GEORGE'S COUTNY RESIDENTS ARE INSTRUCTED TO GO DIRECTLY TO THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT ON 147 KIRKWOOD AVENUE. PICK-UP EVACUATIONS ARE IN PROGRESS AND LEAVE EVERY 15 MINUTES FROM COMMUNITY COLLEGE CAMPUS IN UNIVERSITY TOWN./_

_/EMERGENCY EVACUATION IN PROGRESS./_

_/HEAD IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR NEAREST EMERGENCY SERVICE SHELTER. TROOPS WILL BE THERE TO MEET YOU. BRING A PHOTO ID AND NO MORE THAN ONE BAGGAGE ITEM PER PERSON./_

_/BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS. REMAIN ALERT./_

"On your feet," McCord said, throwing Dunn an assault rifle. "We're Oscar Mike." Dunn stood up as well as Ramirez. Ramirez's heart was aching from the events that had recently transpired. He was definitely not in the type of mood that was necessary to fighting a war, but he stood up and gathered around Foley as he gave them a briefing. Ramirez, however, was dwelling on what he had recently lost. He didn't want to, but his mind wandered and he remembered the horrible thing that happened.

**Fifteen Minutes Earlier.**

"This is Storm Bird 2-1, we're taking heavy AA fire from the Capital Building, over." The radio sparked and sputtered in the corner. The stone bunker was dark-the vast majority of the lights were destroyed from frequent bombing attacks from fighters flying above. The ceiling was already caving in, forcing the Rangers to get out of the way and clear the entire area in case the ground above them became too unstable and collapsed on top of them.

The entire eastern seaboard was being evacuated. Chinooks were carrying millions of civilians to their allies in Canada and Mexico, though from what intel reported, only about forty percent of them made it there. The Russians were pushing farther and farther into the states; Detroit was reduced to rubble. Toledo was a burning graveyard. Orlando was practically a second holocaust, and Disney Land was a brand new military base to hold off the Russians.

Los Angeles, however, was still largely intact. China had entered the war when they refused to allow Russia to pass through their lands, and had allied with America to help hold off the Russians on the western front. Japan had also joined the fray, placing their entire military fleet within a two hundred mile radius of the country. Now it was America, China, Japan, and England against Russia. Even with the combined forces of the four countries, they could not hold off the Russians in their relentless pursuit for vengeance. The Rangers had been informed that one of their own, Private First Class Joseph Allen, had helped a group of Ultranationalist terrorists in murdering thousands of innocent civilians in Moscow, Russia. Sergeant Foley and Corporal Dunn were the most shocked by the news, as he had been part of their squadron before James Ramirez had replaced him.

Ramirez sat in a chair next to his old friend, Steven. He was an African American man in his mid-twenties, two years older than Ramirez. He lied on a medical bed, several vicious bullet wounds puncturing his body. Ramirez couldn't stand to see him that way; he used to be a strong, brave man. Now, he was a shell of a man, weakened, crippled, his strength ebbing away into oblivion. His only hope for survival was immediate professional medical attention. The Russians had annihilated every hospital they saw, killing everyone inside. Even the patients, nurses, surgeons, doctors, security, and other employees that worked inside of them were killed in their underground safety areas as Russians relentlessly bombed the areas, destroying the ground and crushing the people inside.

Ramirez put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder as he took a ragged breath. Ramirez tried not to look at the blood on his white t-shirt. He tried to not focus on the steady sound of dripping blood and other sickening liquids that dripped down from his fingers, each hitting the ground with a disgusting splat.

"I'm dying, aren't I, James?" Steven breathed. Ramirez looked at him and gave him an incredulous look as though he were out of his mind.

"What?" Ramirez quietly exclaimed. "No man, you'll be back surfing in California before you know it!" That seemed to slightly reassure Steven and for a while, the two were silent. The medic next to Steven's bed checked the vital sign monitors on and asked Steven a few questions. He was barely able to speak, making him waste nearly all his energy on questions that were as simple as yes and no. Ramirez's heart wrenched at seeing his friend in this state.

_Don't let him die,_ Ramirez silently begged. _I've already lost my family; don't make me lose my best friend. _The medicsaw Ramirez's desperate and hopeless look in his eyes and flashed him a friendly, somewhat reassuring smile. He halfheartedly returned it, but never took his eyes off of his friend.

"Tasha told me," Steven breathed, then stole gasped for air. Ramirez and the medic held him down and the medic shoved a needle filled with pain-numbing fluids into his bloodstream. After a few minutes, Steven's breathing became normal-well as normal as a man with three bullet wounds to his chest and one to his abdomen. He squeezed his eyes shut then exhaled. He looked at Ramirez again, a question written on his face.

"What did she tell you?" Ramirez asked attentively. Tasha was Steven's wife.

"She told me," Steven said. "That in t-two weeks, we're having a baby girl." Ramirez held back tears as his friend uttered those words. He couldn't bear it if he didn't make it to see them. "D-do you think that I'll ever meet them?" He cried out in pain and the medic once again gave him another shot with sterilizing fluids and pain killers. He once again returned to normal.

"As long as you just take it easy and get some rest, bro," Ramirez replied. "You've got to keep up your strength for your family." Steven gave a choked laugh.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Ma-maybe then, I can see-my. . . see m-my. . ." He never finished his sentence. He held a clenched fist to Ramirez, a wrinkled paper crushed inside of his stiff fingers. He gave Ramirez one last look. At first, it was pained, then it turned fearful-probably fearful of a waiting death, then, a final look of content peacefulness. His eyes slowly closed and his breath became shallow until he breathed no more. Ramirez never let go of his hand; he stayed with his friend to the very end.

The medic rushed over and began to perform CPR on Steven. Ramirez was speechless, absolutely, utterly, speechless. It was ten minutes before the medic stopped. The vital monitor was still buzzing loudly. There was a defeated look on his face as he switched off the monitor. Ramirez never knew what his friend was going to say, but as he pulled the paper-a note to his wife and family-he blinked tears from his eyes and told him good luck and congratulated him for the intimate birth of his daughter.

He broke down and sobbed on the side of the bed. First his own family died, now his best friend from childhood as well. What cruel world did they live in where war took away everything from anyone? The medic tried to comfort him, but Ramirez barely noticed it. He stuffed the note in the pocket of his uniform and stood up, staring down at his body, and his vision blurring with fresh tears.

The medic took a black bag-a body bag-and gently zipped it up and around Steven's corpse. Ramirez-as a last helpful hand to his friend-assisted the medic in carrying him to the side of the bunker with ten other body bags. After they put it down, Ramirez gave a short salute to his friend. The medic patted his shoulder and told him to regroup with his squadron. Ramirez nodded and went over to the bed, picking up his M4A1 with an attached holographic red dot sight and an under slung grenade launcher. He carried six other magazines aside from the one already loaded in his rifle as well as two grenade launcher rounds, four frags, four Flashbangs, an M9 pistol, three extra magazines for it, and a dagger that he always carried with him.

There were several other rooms adjacent to the main one that Ramirez was in. He walked into the second room next to the first one he'd entered and found himself in a communications room, the source of all the radio communications he'd been hearing. The small portable computers they were using were flickering as the connection faded. The entire bunker shook as a bomb, missile, cannon, or some other heavy round hit above them. The Rangers looked up in fear, but the ceiling still held. Barely.

Ramirez continued on, seeing Rangers bring in wounded comrades, others being treated by medics, some waiting for the medics, and others that couldn't be saved either way. Ramirez sat down next to Corporal Dunn at the far end of the bunker. He, McCord, Richardson, and the other Rangers stood around, leaning on the walls or sitting down as Foley talked to Overlord on the radio. He hung his head low and tried not to dwell on the thoughts of what had recently transpired. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that he was the one that had to deliver the horrible news to Steven's wife, either.

"On your feet," McCord said, throwing Dunn an M4A1. "We're Oscar Mike." He stood up as well as Ramirez and gathered around Sergeant Foley to be briefed. Ramirez barely listened; he was too sad.

"Alright, well there's not much to say other than that his base is getting hit hard," Foley said. They all nodded, obvious to the fact that they were getting bombed. "We've got to buy the civilian evacuations some time, hoorah?" They all yelled their battle call, but Ramirez only muttered it half-heartedly. Foley noticed it and looked directly at him. "Ramirez, I want you to take point."

**Go to this link, skip ahead to 1:50, and listen: .com/watch?v=kpX3VtT6ltQ**

"Yes, sir," Ramirez replied. He switched off the safety of his M4A1 and walked outside. The bunker walls were caving in, rubble blanketing the ground. In front of him was a small ladder. He made sure that the rungs were secure, and began to climb until he saw a horrific sight that froze the blood in his veins and caused his heart to skip a beat. On the right side of the ladder was a corpse, but its flesh and sinew were burned away. Its fetid yellow-brown skull tore from its face, bullet holes smashed into its face and across its body. One was directly in its left eye, blood dripping in a large pool two feet down to the dirt below.

Ramirez tried to hold back his stomach from empting its contents all over the ground. He looked up and continued up the ladder. The letter fluttered out of his pocket and fell to the ground. He picked it up and looked the part that read From: Steven. His eyes clouded with anger and he looked up at the next and final rise. The sky was filled with smoke, causing it to look completely black, gray, and a deep, forbidding red. He stuffed the letter in his pocket, zipped it up, and stalked up the rise. At first, he saw the Chinooks and other helicopters lifting off from the Washington Memorial-what was left of it-and then saw the most horrific sight he'd ever seen.

It was the death of America. Inescapable, indescribable, and utterly terrible. Ahead of him was the Lincoln Memorial. The statue of Abraham Lincoln was destroyed, the entire thing lying on the street. The sky was red and black, helicopters and fighters flew in the air deeper into the states only to be shot down from Russian aircraft.

Foley began to lead the way as the radio buzzed with chatter from other Rangers, Marines, SEALs, and every other military detachment in United States history as Washington D.C.-the capital of the entire country-was brought to its knees.

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1," Foley yelled into the radio. "Requesting an immediate air strike, over!"

"Negative, Hunter 2-1," Overlord replied. "All of our air support is pinned down on the west side of the Potomac. We're getting an LAV to haul ass past you and provide cover fire, over."

"Affirmative, Overlord." Foley replied, cutting the link. That was when Ramirez saw the Russians aim heavy machine guns, RPGs, and other shoulder mounted rockets at them.

"INCOMING!" Ramirez screamed. Then all of hell broke loose. Rockets obliterated the ground in front of them, fire burned at the vestiges of the plane. Bullets tore into the Rangers as their squadron and an entire regiment followed behind them. The Rangers were cut down in milliseconds, a helicopter falling from the sky and crashing into them. The rotor of the main propeller flew off and impaled one of the Rangers. An American AC130 gunship crashed into the street, becoming a mushroom-shaped explosion. The entire area was illuminated with bright yellow-orange light as they sprinted forward.

They hid behind the stone wall of at the end of the field, bullets smashing through it. Foley held his hand back to stop the nineteen Rangers that had survived the onslaught of the Russian attack in their mad rush to reach the memorial building. He clenched his hand into a fist and they sprinted across the street and up the stairs of the memorial building, firing at the Russians running down. The LAV tank fired into the main lobby of the memorial, attacking the Russians inside.

Foley ordered them to use their grenade launchers on the Russians, but Ramirez would be surprised if they could even get a clear shot at them. The Russians were everywhere from the balconies above to the main floor below. They were instantly pinned down from incoming AK47 fire and explosives. One of the Rangers looked out over the cases, desperation in his eyes. Foley ordered him to stay, but his panicked state got the better of him. He sprinted out of cover towards the main opening on the far back side of the lobby-and was immediately killed as he took fire from every direction, bullets flying into every section of his body and mutilating it beyond all possible recognition. Foley swore and pulled out his radio.

Ramirez couldn't tell what he was saying over the gunfire they were taking, but he could guess by the fact that within a few heartbeats of what he said, the entire front wall of the memorial building was destroyed as the LAV fired its massive cannons into the lobby on the top and bottom floors. The wall crumbled from the stress, the dust inside making it near impossible to see more than a few meters in front of them. The LAV had done its work, though, as there was no more gunfire to be heard. Just to be safe, though, Foley fired a grenade launcher at the ceiling, collapsing it on both the balcony above and the entire lobby below. There were several screams abruptly cut off, which meant that Foley's launcher was not fired in vain.

They slowly stalked through the memorial's halls. Ramirez saw with sickening displeasure that a group of Rangers were cornered inside of an elevator, their bodies soaked in a large pool of sticky blood and pus. The elevator doors continuously opened and closed as they were met with the soft corpse of a Ranger. Ramirez looked outward as they came into the first area of the memorial building. A Ranger was pulling his wounded comrade to cover when suddenly, a bullet flew through the windows and smashed into his head, killing him instantly. Another killed his wounded comrade. Their small team killed the Russians inside and continued up to the top floor of the building.

"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1," Foley said. "Tell the LAV from BCT 1 to hold their fire."

"Roger that, Hunter 2-1," Overlord replied. As they picked their way over the rubble left on the balcony, they saw through a hole in the wall the United States Capital Building crumble and fall to the ground.

"That's the frickin' Capital Building, man," Dunn breathed, his eyes wide in shock. Still, they continued on through the building. The Russians were literally everywhere, completely invading the building. SAM turret emplacements on the balconies fired at the Air Force flying overhead. Whenever they came across one, they destroyed it with C4. The bodies of Rangers were strewn about, completely taken off guard by the Russians. There were only a few bodies of the Russians that were killed by the Rangers initially stationed in the Lincoln Memorial.

At the fifth floor, they encountered more Russians taking control of the office wing. Any civilians they came across that didn't make it out in time were immediately shot down. The Rangers made sure to avenge their deaths. For Ramirez, this was a far more personal matter than defending their country, but for gaining revenge for his dead family and friends. He didn't care anymore if he died-after all, what did he have left to lose?

At the end, they saw a large group of Russians entrenched on the landing of the memorial. They cut them down and noticed Stingers, Javelins, and an M10 EBR with a Thermal Scope attached to it. Ramirez didn't hesitate to take the Sniper, scope in, and fire at the Russians below. The only reason he knew they were Russians was due to the fact that they were firing on the Rangers at the Washington Memorial.

Dunn, Foley, and the other Rangers took the Stingers and Javelins, firing at the BTRs, T-75s, Cobra Helicopters, and Russian Hinds firing down at the men trying to evacuate the area. Overlord radioed in and ordered them to fall back to the roof where a Black Hawk would be waiting for them. Foley complied and they ran to the roof. The Rangers all ran up to get there before the Black Hawk left without them, climbing over rubble and destroyed objects and even at one point, a Little Bird that had smashed directly into the ceiling.

The Black Hawk was waiting for them as they were told and Ramirez manned the minigun on the side. They flew up and over Washington D.C., watching as the country fell to the ground. They fired down at Russians at the World War Two Memorial and the main road, but there were just too many.

"All units, this is Overlord," the voice came over the radio. "I'm giving out Evacuation Order April, I repeat, Evacuation Order April. Everyone, get the hell out of there!" The pilot was doing just that, flying towards the rendezvous point at the rear of the state when suddenly, a missile hit their tail rudder.

"Overlord, we're hit but still in the air!" Foley cried. "We're not going to make it out of this one, sir, but if we're going down, we're taking one of those damned SAM sites with us!" The pilot nodded and raised the helicopter into the air. On the rooftop of the massive building, Ramirez saw twenty SAM turrets. He fired down with his minigun while the rest of the Rangers used their grenade launchers on them. One of the turrets, however, turned ominously and fired a single rocket. It smashed into the side of the Black Hawk and it began to twist and turn, flying in circles as it spun to the ground.

"We're going down in section Two Charlie Papa Bravo, I repeat, Two Charlie-" The pilot never finished his sentence, for the Black Hawk crashed to the ground and erupted into a large ball of flame.

**Ten Minutes Later**

"McCord, what's your ammo check?" Dunn screamed.

"Twenty four rounds left!" McCord cried back. Ramirez pushed himself from the charred metal floor of the helicopter. The side of his face hurt terribly. He felt the side and flinched away, noticing that the entire right side of it was raw, his gloved fingers touching sinew and muscle beneath in a long, jagged patch on his face. He looked at his hands and noticed that they were burned and covered with grit.

Outside of the helicopter were the Rangers and the two pilots. The first one was already dead, but the second one still had his M4A1. He looked behind him and noticed Ramirez forcing himself to his feet. He ran to him and gave him the M4A1 while he took out an M9.

"Take this and stay down!" He ordered, then a bullet flew through his head. Ramirez jumped back in horror, but did as he said and fired at the Russians. There were wreckages from the helicopter and others across the street. There were cars, tanks, even the LAV was just a scrap heap. The Russians were everywhere, firing at them from all directions.

"There's too many of them!" Dunn screamed. Ramirez fired another shot, then his gun clicked.

"I'm out of ammo!" He cried. Foley looked back and took a magazine from his belt.

"Last mag!" He yelled. "Make it count!" Ramirez nodded and fired at the Russians. Dunn tried to move out and take a shot at a Russian behind cover, but a bullet flew into his shoulder and sent him falling to the ground with a groan. "Corporal!" Foley yelled, dragging Dunn behind the cover of the stone wall.

"Oh, shit," Dunn moaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"Hold this position!" Foley yelled. Then, a Hind flew overhead, shining a bright spotlight on them. They shielded their eyes from the light and looked up to see the Hind overhead. Someone inside of the massive helicopter yelled something in Russian that none of them could understand. F22s and F18s from the Russian Air flew overhead, the sound of the engines screeching over their position and deafening them. That was when the Hind tipped forward. . . and aimed its machine guns and missiles directly at the Rangers.

**Well guys, we just witnessed the fall of the United States of America. I'd greatly appreciate a review from all of you guys following this story so I know how I'm doing! I won't be able to upload Act 3 for a while because of my school work coming up, so I hope you guys can bear with me. Also, if you guys would like to see my Youtube Channel, go to .com/wolfgamewalkthroughs/ to see my gaming videos! Also, if you guys have any questions about this story, other stories, upcoming stories, or just want to hang out, send me a friend request on Xbox LIVE! My gamertag is WOLFxVSlayer667. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it!**

**WOLF OUT.**


	14. Ch 13: Contingency

**Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2**

**Act 3: For the Record**

"Contingency"

Day 5 – 11:22:38

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

14 Miles SSE of Patropavlovsk, Russia

"_I thought I was done for when you left," Price said, recounting the events after Operation Kingfish. Roach couldn't believe that their old Captain had survived, nor could he believe how much he'd changed from that day. After Price had washed up and eaten a full meal, he began to explain what had happened all those years ago. "The Ultranationalists were all over me. I expected them to kill me on sight, but instead they were ordered by Kingfish to bring me to Patropavlovsk. I didn't understand why they would want me there, but they stuck me in a cell at the bottom of that Gulag._

_ "Kingfish-that man, Makarov I believe was his name-would have his men tie me up and would continuously beat me every time he came there. Then they would hang me by my wrists and chain me several meters in the air just to add punishment to me. They would feed me whenever they felt like it, but Makarov made sure that I was fed at least thrice a month and would make sure I got one drink every day, though I would still get dehydrated several times a month."_

_ "Why did he want you alive?" Soap asked him._

_ "He wanted to give me a slow and painful death," Price spat. "He wants revenge for Zakhaev's death and he's taking it out on everyone on the planet."_

_ "What do you mean?" Roach asked. "China, Japan, and England have allied with America to fend off the Russians but no one else is part of this."_

_ "There will be if we don't do something quickly," Price said. "I overheard Makarov's plans; he wants exactly what Zakhaev wanted: for Russia to come back to its full power, back like the days when Stalin was the ruler. Unfortunately, he wants do it in the single most drastic way possible, a solution that Zakhaev, through all of his apparent insanity, didn't even approve of: Makarov wants to launch a full scale invasion on Europe and bring them into the war, but he won't stop there. He's going to keep attacking every continent and country on Earth and start a third World War."_

_ "How could he possibly do that?" Ghost asked incredulously. Price shook his head, unsure himself of how it was possible. _

_ "Price, General Shepherd is requesting a conference with you," Soap said from across the room. "Should I patch him through?"_

_ "Aye, do it," Price replied._

_ "General Shepherd," Soap said. "You're now online with Captain Price."_

_ "Back from the brink, Captain," Shepherd mused from the other end of the line. They knew each other from old times past in the old days of the last war against the Ultranationalists; after all, Shepherd was the man who was in control of the thirty thousand marines that died in the nuclear attack in Saudi Arabia. _

_ "Out of the frying pan is more like it," Price replied. "From what Soap's told me, this world is more like Hell than the one I just escaped from."_

_ "I'm supposing that Captain MacTavish already told you about the ACS crisis?" Shepherd asked. Price confirmed that he did and Shepherd continued. "Well, after the Task Force 141 brought it back we tried our best to secure it. Unfortunately, the Russians cracked the code embedded in the ACS and Makarov somehow got his hands on it, turning America into his scape-goat; the next thing we know, there are flames everywhere."_

_ "I think I may be able to provide assistance to your troubles, General," Price told him, madly typing into the laptop and sending an encrypted message to Shepherd. _

_ "What's this image you're sending me?" Shepherd asked as he examined the blueprints of a large, Russian submarine as he received the message._

_ "When you want to put out an oil fire, sir," Price explained. "The sensible thing to do is put off an even large explosion right next to it. Fire needs oxygen to keep burning, and when a second explosion goes off, the oxygen is snuffed up and douses both of the flames. I reckon we've got a pretty big fire, and to put it out we're going to need a very big bang."_

_ "Price, you've been locked up in the Gulag too long. You'd better get your mind right, son." Shepherd growled with a hint of a threat in his voice._

_ "Shepherd, are you willing to do whatever it takes to win?" Price asked him plainly. "Even if you must take the most drastic measures to do so?"_

_ "Always,"_

_ "Then I'll take the team to Russia to secure the submarine and carry out this new operation."_

_ "No, Price!" Shepherd said. "You've got to focus on taking out Makarov."_

_ "No time sir, we've got to end this war today."_

_ "That's not a suggestion, Price, that's a direct order!" Shepherd said. "Now I want you to-" Price clicked a button on the monitor, ending the link. _

_ "Hmm," Price mumbled. "It seems that we've lost our connection."_

The air was rushing up at Roach, ice particles blinding him in his quick decent to the ground many kilometers below. He twisted and turned as he fell to the ground, fumbling with the trigger to activate his parachute. Jumping from AC130s was not a hobby that he was keen on getting used to, nor of ever doing again. He felt sick as he continued the fall, still trying to see through the darkness to use his parachute. Finally, he found it. He pulled the string-and it snapped right off.

_Oh, bloody hell,_ Roach thought. He couldn't see what was below him, nor could he begin to guess. He braced himself for a very hard and painful landing, covering his head and curling into a ball to protect any vital organs and other parts of his body. When he finally broke through the cloud cover, he saw a large hill in front of him, the sides sloping down gently with very few trees growing on it. He angled himself as best as he could in mid-air and aimed for the hill. Just as he was about to impact, he kicked the air sideways until he was lying on his backpack, facing the sky. The pack hit the hill with a large, jolting force.

He flipped sideways and crashed into the snow, firing a large explosion of cold, frozen water in the air around him. It went down his shirt and pants, freezing him. When he finally stopped tumbling down the hill, he pushed himself upward, hugging himself in a vain attempt to keep out the cold. For a while, he sat there until he realized the fact that he needed to move or he'd die of hypothermia. A long, frozen river lay to his immediate West, a grove of trees surrounding him on the sides of the road he'd stopped on, and it was at least two in the morning, the snow fling around him. He searched around for his M21 EBR; his USB .45 was still inside of his holster, his backpack missing along with his EBR. He clicked on the flashlight attached to his belt, shining the bright beam through the darkness until he saw a humped shape in the forest at the base of the mountain.

He walked over with stiff limbs until he reached the dark hump. When he reached it however, it shifted. At first Roach thought it was a trick upon his eyes, but when it stood up on four legs and turned to reveal itself as a gray wolf, he realized that he was not seeing things. The wolf regarded him with cold, yellow eyes. He could feel the animal scanning him, hear it smelling the air to find his scent, analyzing him to see if he was friend or foe, predator. . . or prey. He moved his hand to his belt where his USB was holstered, prompting a vicious growl from the wolf. Its ears lied flat on its head, its lips pulled back to show off its long fangs. It glared at him and growled threateningly again.

Roach cautiously drew the pistol from its holster, then began to aim it at the ground in front of the wolf; he had no inclination to fire on the animal both to conserve his animal and because he was in awe and respect of the wonderful animal. He fired a bullet into the snow several inches in front of it. It leaped back, its tail straight, its limbs stiff, its ears were shoved forward in alarm. It looked at the hole and inched forward cautiously to inspect the hole the bullet created on impact. It sniffed the hole a bit and made what was as close to a disgusted sneer as it could form.

Roach backed a bit, still aiming the gun at the wolf. It looked up from the ground at him and it glared at him. It gave a vicious snarl and leaped at him, knocking him on his back. It lunged for his neck, forcing Roach to punch the wolf in the side of the jaw. Unfortunately, wolves had the jaw strength of Kodiak bears, so it hardly fazed it. He held it back, just holding off the inevitable when suddenly, it lurched as several objects hit its side. It rolled off of him, its tail tucked tightly between its legs in fear and it bolted off. Roach stared off at it in wonder. He looked back and saw Captain Price standing there, a USP .45 in his hand, aimed in the direction of the wolf.

"I leave you alone for ten minutes and you're already getting attacked by the wolf pack?" Price greeted. Roach didn't see it as much of a formal greeting, but accepted Price's helping hand as he helped him to his feet.

"Did you kill it?" Roach asked.

"No," Price said. "You never kill an animal predator unless you have no choice. I simply shot it with stun darts; it'll fall asleep in a couple of hours and wake up a bit sore by mid-day. By the way, didn't I tell you to never lose your supplies?" He revealed Roach's backpack and M21 EBR, handing them to him. He took them gratefully and followed price to a small camp site. They rested there for the night until morning when they would begin their plan.

**8 Hours Later**

"Come on, Roach," Price said, waking him up from his sleeping sack. He turned over and packed up his supplies, pulling on his gear and taking his M21 EBR, loading it with a magazine and fitting a suppressor on the muzzle of the sniper. With that, they set out to further down the road that followed the main river. Suddenly, helicopters carrying vehicles, supplies, equipment, and many other materials flew over the river. Price called in to report their findings but they continued moving on.

They continued moving up the road, the snow crunching under their heavy boots. The farther they moved up, the colder they got as they moved further up the mountain as they raised higher in altitude. The frigid air caused frost to form on their jackets and freeze their limbs. Suddenly, Price saw movement at the top of the road. He raised his fist and they crouched down, aiming their weapons down the road and scoping ahead.

Several Russians patrolled the road ahead, walking across the back road they were using to continue on to the next.

"Five contacts," Price said, adjusting the scope of his variable zoom. "Automatic rifles, frag grenades, and a German Shepherd,"

"Dogs," Soap growled in the radio. "I hate 'em."

"Don't worry, Soap," Price replied coaxingly. "These dogs are like pussy-cats compared to the monsters in Pripyat." Roach vaguely remembered the dogs that were prowling the streets of Pripyat in Chernobyl, Ukraine that had viciously attacked their group and remembered that Soap had to fight off several of them at once.

"It's good to have you back, old man," Soap said.

"Roger that, 'youngster'," Price replied with a grin. He turned back to Roach and motioned for him to follow Price up the hill behind the Russians. They hid behind the bushes and trees, scoping out the five men. Two of them stopped to smoke by the left side while the other three and the dog went further up to the right.

After they let two trucks pass them, Price gave an unspoken command and they instantaneously fired at the two on the left. Their bodies dropped soundlessly to the soft, white ground. They stalked ahead and took out the other Russians-Roach took out the one on the far right and his dog while Price took out the two on the far left. With that, they walked across the bridge over the river below.

As they continued up the road, they saw even more helicopters carrying vehicles and supplies, as well as new mobile SAMs. Price radioed in to Soap, reporting that their intel, like almost always, was off. Then, Price raised his fist, looking around curiously.

"Did you hear that?" Price asked. Roach listened but could only hear the wind blowing the snow around them.

"What are you-?" Roach was cut off as a BTR flew over the hill ahead of them, training its turrets on their position.

"RUN! GET IN THE FOREST!" Roach didn't need prompting from him, for he was already running after him. Cannon rounds flew past them, smashing into the trees and obliterating the wood, bringing half of the forest down behind them. Bullets flew around with the cannon shots, but luckily, none of the bullets nor the cannons made contact with them.

Price told Roach to settle down, for their vehicles couldn't follow them so far into the forest. They still walked backwards, aiming their weapons towards the BTR just in case it was going to try plowing after them. It didn't, however, come after them. The further they went into the forest, the more soldiers they came across, shining spotlights and flashlights around the darkened forest and using their dogs to scent them out.

It took a long time, but they were able to make it through the patrols and break through the forest and reached the top of the rise overlooking the village below.

Soap radioed in to report that the Americans had commandeered a mobile Predator Drone that they were able to use for surveillance and reconnaissance to take out targets on the ground with the AGM missiles loaded inside of it. Roach took a small, portable computer from his backpack and activated it. The black and white image thermal image of the ground below allowed him to see the village. Suddenly, something sparked in the middle and a missile curved upward to the drone, shooting it out of the sky.

Roach looked up at the cloudy, snow-flurried sky and saw a dark black dot at the SAM missile hit the predator, destroying it. Price swore and asked for Soap if they could commission another Predator UAV, but he replied that it would take at least another ten minutes before they could get it there. _That'll have to do, _Roach thought. They slid down the hill and came across a Humvee filled with weapons. Price smashed open the window of the driver's seat and unlocked the doors. They opened it up and found an assortment of AK47s, M240 Light Machineguns, and TAR-21 Assault Rifles. Roach grabbed the M240, hefting the massive machine gun and taking the three extra clips for it, wrapping the bullets around himself. He dropped the EBR and replaced it for a TAR-21, strapping it to his back as he followed Price-who'd kept his M21 EBR but took an AK47-who was running to the building that the SAM turret was located.

Suddenly, a Javelin missile flew from the sky and plummeted to the ground, smashing into the turret and annihilating it. Bewildered, the two looked around and saw Ghost, Worm, Scarecrow, and Ozone running down the hill towards them.

"Good work taking out that last SAM site!" Price greeted merrily.

"Thanks, but we'd better keep moving," Ghost panted. "The Russians followed us for miles and I doubt they'll be giving up too soon."

"Alright, well let's get to that sub, shall we?" Price said with finality. They met few Russians in their advance through the village and their engagements were short and quick. As they moved through the trails further into the forest, they came across a large refueling plant. Russians were crawling all over, patrolling the area. Armored Humvees, two BTRs, and a Hind patrolled the area, ensuring that the submarine would have the chance to dive under the water and escape unscathed. It was the job of the Task Force 141 to make sure that their attempts were futile.

Soap radioed in again. "The UAV is above you and patrolling the area," he reported. "Just make your shots count, these things don't just grow on trees, alright?" Price complied and Roach took out the computer. The surveillance view showed the plant was containing at least two hundred Russians, though most of them were bunched together in tight-knit groups that would make their eradication all the easier. Explosive fuel canisters, vehicles, and buildings would also help with their deaths, but that was assuming that they he could take them all out effectively. They moved down into the main storage station, assassinating the men patrolling the area.

Thinking that the best thing to do was to destroy the Hind first and eliminate their air defenses, he fired the Predator missile through the Hind's propellers, then smashed downward into the fueling plant, killing at least half of the men in the area as the entire station collapsed on top of them, crushing stragglers.

Roach-who was staring in shock at the chaotic destruction he'd created unintentionally-was hit from behind by Price, yelling at him to move ahead. He took his M240 and fired at the Russians that had managed to survive the assault, sprinting ahead towards the submarine. Taking cover behind some nearby crates, he fired another Predator at the refueling dock where the BTRs were located, destroying them and the other armored vehicles in the vicinity of the area.

The Russians were held up just before the submarine as it was taking its final preparations for its launch into the sea. They fragged the area, firing more javelins until the Russians were eliminated. Price sprinted ahead, ordering them to stay behind and hold off any possible reinforcements. They ran up on the building nearby, firing at the Russians that came back to retake the submarine launch base. Suddenly, the airlock silo doors of the sub began to open, meaning that there was some kind of launch that was going to happen.

"Price, the silo doors are open on the sub!" Ghost yelled, panicked into the radio. "You've got to get out of there, now!" Price didn't answer, prompting Ghost to repeat himself. When he once again did not reply, Ghost yelled, "PRICE! DO YOU COPY? THE SILO DOORS ON SUB ARE OPEN! I REPEAT, THE SILO DOORS ARE OPEN!"

"Good," Price said with a content voice.

"What?" Ghost asked, confused. Suddenly, the rear door on the back of the sub opened and a massive missile flew from the back, flying high into the air and out of range and lock on of their rockets. "Price, Price NO! DON'T!"

"Son of a-" Roach muttered.

"Command, we have a nuclear missile launch!" Ghost screamed. "I repeat, we have a nuclear missile launch! Code Black, CODE BLACK!"


	15. Ch 14: Second Sun

"Second Sun"

Day 5 – 18:57:21, 2016

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Washington D.C., U.S.A.

"_Gentlemen, the missiles vector is put en route to the east coast," Overlord stated. "We will lose the White House." The grim statement put an air of defeated finality on the men in the secret underground bunker in Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. The President of the United States was supposedly almost there, but they wouldn't be surprised if he, like all of the other helicopters lately, was shot out of the sky. There was a time when everyone had to admit failure, and by the looks of it, America was going to have to admit failure. They had lost the war._

_ It was a sobering, sickening, distasteful statement to make, but they were going to have to succumb to Russian authority or risk losing everything; every man, woman, child, and soldier of the country would be wiped out completely, and America would die (not as though it wasn't screeching its death throes already)._

_ "We've rebuilt it before," General Shepherd growled. Overlord wished he could have the confidence he had, for he seemed to never want to give up or admit failure. "We will rebuild it again."_

_ "What are the casualties?" Overlord asked, pacing the underground facility. _

_ "Possibly thirty to fifty thousand souls will be lost, American and Russian alike," Shepherd replied. "All systems will go down."_

_ "General Shepherd, you warned us of the deceit he would surely perform," Overlord sighed, slumping down in his chair. "For a man that was being held captive by the Russians for so long, I thought we could trust him. We should have listened to you."_

_ "It's too late to fix the chaos that Captain Price has wrought," Shepherd said, brushing it off. "We can't reprimand him for what he's done because at this point, none of us may ever see each other again."_

_ "What will we do?"_

_ "We will not be known as the men who stood guard while America died," Shepherd replied. "One man is responsible for all of this: Makarov must be brought to light."_

_ "Whatever you need, General," Overlord said. "You've got a blank check."_

"McCord, what's your ammo check?" Dunn screamed.

"Twenty four rounds left!" McCord cried back. Ramirez pushed himself from the charred metal floor of the helicopter. The side of his face hurt terribly. He felt the side and flinched away, noticing that the entire right side of it was raw, his gloved fingers touching sinew and muscle beneath in a long, jagged patch on his face. He looked at his hands and noticed that they were burned and covered with grit.

Outside of the helicopter were the Rangers and the two pilots. The first one was already dead, but the second one still had his M4A1. He looked behind him and noticed Ramirez forcing himself to his feet. He ran to him and gave him the M4A1 while he took out an M9.

"Take this and stay down!" He ordered, then a bullet flew through his head. Ramirez jumped back in horror, but did as he said and fired at the Russians. There were wreckages from the helicopter and others across the street. There were cars, tanks, even the LAV was just a scrap heap. The Russians were everywhere, firing at them from all directions.

"There's too many of them!" Dunn screamed. Ramirez fired another shot, then his gun clicked.

"I'm out of ammo!" He cried. Foley looked back and took a magazine from his belt.

"Last mag!" He yelled. "Make it count!" Ramirez nodded and fired at the Russians. Dunn tried to move out and take a shot at a Russian behind cover, but a bullet flew into his shoulder and sent him falling to the ground with a groan. "Corporal!" Foley yelled, dragging Dunn behind the cover of the stone wall.

"Oh, shit," Dunn moaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"Hold this position!" Foley yelled. Then, a Hind flew overhead, shining a bright spotlight on them. They shielded their eyes from the light and looked up to see the Hind overhead. Someone inside of the massive helicopter yelled something in Russian that none of them could understand. F22s and F18s from the Russian Air flew overhead, the sound of the engines screeching over their position and deafening them. That was when the Hind tipped forward. . . and aimed its machine guns and missiles directly at the Rangers.

**One Thousand Miles Above Earth's Orbit**

"Sat 1, please activate your helmet cam," NASA Command directed. Captain Alfred Garr, codenamed 'Sat 1', was floating in the dark emptiness of space. The stars glittered around him, each individual light illuminating the shadowy void with a dim glow despite the fact that he and the satellite were flying high above America which at the current moment was in its darkness. Although it was technically night on this side of the planet, Sat 1 could see from his position above orbit dim red and orange glows from the ground thousands of miles below. Dark smoke obscured the view of about forty six percent of America's landmass.

Sat 1 knew not what was occurring on the surface of the planet, but knew that whatever it was, it couldn't in any way be good. Sat 1 moved his hand up to his helmet and clicked a button on the right side. At the top right corner of his viewport, a smaller screen began to fuzz into view, showing him a smaller version of everything that he saw, all transmitted to Houston. NASA reported that they were getting his helmet feed as he swerved his head around, surveying the space around it. Even for a day (or night) like this, NASA still wanted their precious feeds of the sky above, never missing out when it came to the irregular, spiral, and elliptical galaxies; the nebulas, supernovas, stars in formation and death, anything that the scientist lab rats could use to keep themselves busy.

"Sat 1, could you look over east of the dark side of the Earth, over?" One of the men at Houston radioed. Surprised, Sat 1 asked why and was told in no uncertain terms that there was an extremely fast-moving object cresting the eastern PV rays. Bewildered, Sat 1 turned his helmet to face in their ordered direction. At first, he couldn't see anything remarkably different other than the fact that smoke billowed miles outward over the ocean.

Then, rising just over the Atlantic, a bright yellow light began to crest the horizon. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out what it was. He made out a dark object in the center of the yellow light, the object arching up over the upper atmosphere as it made its way from the other side of the planet to America.

"We're getting your feed, Sat 1," the commander reported. "Keep tracking that bogey."

"Roger that," Sat 1 replied. "Houston, we're not scheduled for any satellite launches today, are we?" There was no immediate response.

"Standby," Houston said. "We may have a problem here." From the other side of the radio, Sat 1 could hear panicked the talking and screaming. He couldn't make any sense of what was happening at all. The object was now just about to reach the eastern seaboard, and Sat 1 thought it looked like some kind of a missile, but that was crazy! Wasn't it?

"Uh, Houston?" Sat 1 asked. "Are you there? Is there any word on the-" Suddenly, the object stopped over the east then it detonated. He confirmed that it was a missile-probably a nuclear missile!-and there was a large ring that formed around the original detonation, enveloping the entire eastern seaboard. Sat 1's eyes widened as he saw every white light that symbolized power on the ground below-as in electricity-go out. Then, the satellite in front of him began to creak and groan. Suddenly, the force of the nuclear missile imploded, flying outward in a blue, electromagnetic pulse wave. The satellite collapsed, taking the space shuttle he was attached to with it. They smashed into each other, Sat 1 in between the two massive forces. His body was crushed, his helmet feed losing connection. The last thing that the men at Houston heard was a scream of terror.

**Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado**

"Sir, we have to get inside of the bunker!" Lieutenant Colonel Gerald yelled. Overlord stood outside on the landing pad, ensuring that the President was getting himself secure inside of the base. Miraculously, he had survived. The Vice President had not accompanied him, however, as he was somewhere in Germany about politics. Overlord shook the President's hand and gave him over to the Lieutenant Colonel, telling him that he would be right behind him. He ran up to the Black Hawk's cockpit to tell the pilot to power down when suddenly, the massive propellers slowed and came to an abrupt stop.

"Whoa," the pilot breathed, looking around at his controls. "The whole thing just-it just shut down." Overlord gave him a questioning look, but he could only shrug in response. He stepped away from the Black Hawk and looked up at the gray sky to see a bright orange ring extending across it as the nuclear missile detonated above the Earth's orbit.

"No," he breathed. "It shouldn't have made it this far inland!" Yet it had, and now all systems were going down. He sprinted to the pilot. "We have to get inside, now!"

"Why, what's going on?" He asked curiously.

"Just follow me!" Overlord snarled and together, they ran to the metal door. Overlord tried typing the passcode, but the power was out. "Shit." He muttered.

Then, they heard a loud crack from the sky. They whirled around to see a Russian cargo plane falling from the sky, heading right for them. Overlord's eyes widened and he turned to see the pilot running away at a panicked speed. Overlord, however, was frozen in place. His head screamed at him to run but his legs were locked in, paralyzed in the sheer terror of knowing that the end was nigh. The cargo plane plummeted to the ground, smashing into the landing pad and crushing the Black Hawk. One of the wings clipped the pilot, breaking his neck as he made his desperate and vain escapade. The cargo plane skidded forward, then smashed into Overlord. The cargo ship exploded in a massive ball of fire. When the explosion's force had withered down, there was nothing but a blackened, skeletal form of the cargo plane. A charred, mutilated corpse of a man in his sixties lied crushed on the ground at the nose of the plane, its body burning away into nothingness.

**Washington D.C., Hunter 2-1's Last Known Location**

Ramirez fell back, his hand covering his eyes as the light from the Hind blinded him. The machine guns on the front of it began to rev up; the missiles began to lock on to the Rangers. Ramirez braced for pain and light when suddenly, everything stopped. The light died down the Hind's machine guns and missiles died down. The gunfire stopped, and everything was utterly silent. A bright orange ring formed in the sky above them, extending further inland. Rangers and Russians alike stared up at the strange phenomenon when suddenly, the red dots, holographic sights, airborne aircraft, and land vehicles alike sparked and flared. Ramirez dropped his M4A1, startled, as well as his friends and foes. Then, the Hind sparked and the propellers exploded.

The Hind spun around in mid-air, smashing into the ground and exploding into a mushroom cloud of flame. The Russians in front of them were either killed in the explosion or scattered away as the Hind crashed. It wasn't just a freak incident, though; every helicopter in the area began to fall to the ground and explode, F22s flew into buildings and smashed into the ground. The ring of light passed over them and a strange blue glow began to envelop them. Ramirez clutched his head in pain as something screeched inside of it as the pulse enveloped him. The others did so as well, but McCord rushed over and tore off the propeller that was embedded in the doorway of the Black Hawk that trapped Ramirez.

He grabbed Ramirez's hand and helped him out. He leaned back and grabbed his M4A1 despite the freakishness where his Holographic Sight nearly exploded in his face. Foley helped the revived Dunn to his feet, and they stood around in bewilderment. Suddenly, an F22 smashed into the ground next to them and they began to sprint to the building nearby.

"What the hell's going on?" McCord yelled.

"It's an EMP!" Dunn yelled back. EMPs (Electromagnetic Pulses) were massive nuclear missiles that rendered all electrically powered materials useless, explaining the loss of the Russian's aircraft use. Unfortunately, that meant that everything in the sky was coming right for them. "RUN!" They did just that, sprinting across the large street to the other end. A Cobra fell from the sky and blew up on top of a BTR, throwing it forward.

"Dammit!" Foley yelled as the BTR skidded towards him. He jumped out of the way, barely escaping the crushing force of the tank. Ramirez dove over a piece of scrap metal that flew out from under him. Metal parts fell from the sky that didn't look as though they were parts of aircraft, but it wasn't the time to ponder on that now. Now, they had to make sure not to be crushed.

"HOLY SHIT!" Dunn screamed as a Black Hawk flew over him, smashing into the walls next to his position. The explosion knocked him into Ramirez, forcing him to push Dunn off of him and help him to his feet. Fortunately, the aircraft did not hit them as they made their way into the small store across the street. They dove behind cover, hiding behind the line of cash registers. A Hind tumbled from the sky and blew up outside, destroying half of the wall in the front of the store. Stones and burning metal flew inside.

Then, all was silent save for their labored breathing inside of the store. They cautiously stood up to be greeted with the charred, skeletal remains of the Hind.

"What the hell are we going to do now, man?" Dunn asked to no one in particular, his voice shrill with panic. "The Russian's have got us outnumbered, for all we know we're the only people left alive out here, and now there's shit falling fucking from the sky! Man, we are freaking screwed man! We are completely, utterly, screw-"

"SHUT UP!" Foley roared. "Get a hold of yourself, Corporal!" Suddenly, something outside crashed outside. The entire street was illuminated in bright, yellow light as something exploded. Large shards of metal and glass flew every which way, forcing them to dive to the floor, covering their heads necks while their helmets covered their heads. The explosion roared for a few more apprehensive moments before it finally died, fading away into nothingness. They slowly stood up, looking around.

"What was that?" Ramirez asked, breaking the uncomfortable, terrified silence that shrouded their small group like a dark storm cloud. Foley, clicking off the safety of his SCAR-H, held a hand up to them, telling them to stay in the building. With that, he opened the door and walked outside into the smoke-filled, burning night. Dunn was stunned, calling Foley crazy for going out there.

Then, he turned back and beckoned them outside, telling them that whatever was going on, it was over-for now. They walked out of the shop, aiming their weapons around, though none of their Holographic or Red Dot sights were functioning at the moment. The only other sound of their breathing was the burning of multiple fires, new and old. Trails of fire burned across the street, forcing them to stay to their right and jumping over parts that they couldn't walk through. Suddenly, they found the source of the massive explosion: the NASA space station lied on the side of the street, a satellite smashed through a building.

They looked at the two massive objects in stunned awe, figuring out that the EMP must have been just in orbit, the blast taking out objects in space as well. Foley found the body of an astronaut, the white suit torn and blackened from planet fall. Foley turned it over and lifted the broken helmet from the astronaut's face, revealing a gory, bloodied, disfigured and flattened face of a man that was completely unrecognizable. Tendons, muscle, entrails, bone, and the smashed eyes and brain floated in a deep pool of black-red blood that filled the crushed helmet.

Foley swore and slid the visor back over the man's face. Dunn, looking at it just before he did so, walked into a building to throw up everything left in his stomach. His limbs shook in distaste and sickness from the horrid sight. A putrid, sickening smell hung in the air. They continued on, finding more Rangers in the city as they searched for survivors-Foley figured that if anyone had survived the EMP, they might have some kind of working generator nearby they could use to call in for an immediate evacuation.

Unfortunately, after a whole two hours of searching the city, all they found were the corpses of Rangers and Russians, along with many civilians that littered the streets. Thunder rumbled in the sky above as dark storm clouds combined with the gaseous smoke from the fires above. Small, burning objects fell from the sky to the ground around and deep inside of the city, creating the mock illusion of a meteor shower.

All of their optics and coms were down, completely dysfunctional; there wasn't so much as a street light for every block they walked on. Foley began to lead them deeper into the heart of the Washington D.C. towards the White House; if any generators were still in the city, they would be there. Dunn suggested that they go try getting to the Pentagon or the Capital Building as they were far closer to their location than the White House which was at least ten miles from their position, but Foley ruled it out; the Pentagon was probably hit as hard as the Capital Building which, upon further inspection via Foley's ACOG sight, was completely annihilated.

They walked through the streets toward the old banking office when a dark, shadowy figure stumbled out of the doorways of the building and ran down the steps. They took up positions around the destroyed area and aimed their weapons at the man running down.

"Star!" Dunn yelled as the man stumbled again down the stairs, not replying. He repeated his call. "Star, or we will fire on you!" The man held up his hands and walked into the light of the fires, revealing himself to be a young man wearing a Ranger's uniform.

"Look, I don't remember the damn countersign, alright?" He responded. "I'm just a Runner! Please, don't shoot!" They lowered their weapons and stood up from their cover to greet the Ranger.

"The proper response is 'Texas', Private," Foley said as they walked up to him. "Now, what do you got?"

"General Marshall is rallying the remaining troops at Whiskey Hotel," he replied, using the White House's codename. "You guys got to keep heading north." With that, he ran off farther down the street.

"So where are you going then?" Dunn called, suspiciously. They aimed their weapons at the man once more, catching Dunn's suspicious tone.

"Like I said," the man said, turning around to look at them. "I'm a Runner, which means that I've got go find anyone else left out there. Just go, get to Whiskey Hotel!"

"Be careful, alright son?" Foley called. "We've lost too many people today!"

"Will do sir!" He replied, and then disappeared as he ran down the street and out of sight. Foley told them to follow him into the banking office. They aimed their weapons around the lobby, scanning for any enemies inside. Foley ordered them to take off their optical sights and switch back to their iron sights. They moved up the stairs to the wooden doors ahead that led into further banking office. McCord ran up to the doors and took hold of the doorknob. He slowly pushed his way inside, aiming the gun in the room.

He yelled the 'star' call sign thrice, but there was no response except for the rain outside. Ramirez looked back and saw that the rain was coming down extremely hard, the wind blowing ferociously, and lighting and thunder flashing and cracking constantly, signaling that there was a monsoon coming in. They moved into the room and McCord called the sign again as they hid behind a wall, waiting for his sign to come in. After a few moments, nothing happened.

Then, he turned back and yelled that it was all clear. Hundreds of bullets suddenly smashed into his body, blood spurting from his corpse as the force pushed him back into the wall. His body was now mutilated and destroyed beyond all possible recognition. Dunn swore and they swung inside, firing shots at the Russians that had risen from the cubicles inside. Ramirez fired through the cubicles' soft, wooden walls as the Russians took cover behind them.

Glass inside of the building shattered as bullets smashed into them. Several bullets flew into the building's outer windows, exposing them to the forces of the monsoon. Hail and rain flew inside, distracting the Russians just enough for the Rangers to take them out. They all ran to the corpse of McCord, Dunn checking his body for vitals, but he was beyond help. His eyes darkened with anger at both the Russians and the Runner they'd met outside of the bank.

"Freaking kid tried to get us killed!" He snarled. "Didn't bother telling us about the Russians inside here, did he?"

"That can't be helped now," Foley said. "McCord did his duty, now let's do ours and not let his memory die in vain. Come on, we've still got a war to fight." They nodded solemnly and stalked in through the building, clearing out more of the rooms until they came across a hole that a Cobra had smashed into, the wreckage lying on the ground a few meters below. Water and hail was beginning to flood the bank as the monsoon's force began to enter the bank.

Across the parking lots and streets ahead, there was a large building briefly illuminated by the lightning. Ramirez caught sight of several holes and broken windows on the building as they looked out through the monsoon.

"That's the Eisenhower Building," Foley announced. "Whiskey Hotel is on the other side."

"Aw, man," Dunn groaned. "We've got to go out there?" Foley rolled his eyes and jumped through the hole and down onto the Cobra's wreckage below. The rest of them followed suit and ran through the monsoon towards a large T-55 tank in the center of the lot. Ramirez's uniform became soaked within mere seconds, causing him to shiver violently in the bitter cold of the storm.

Dunn ran towards a Ranger that was lying on in the lot while the rest of them covered him, but the man was a goner. There was a BTR in the next lot, the top door closed as men inside banged on it in panic; they were locked inside, unable to open it without power. Russians began to help out their trapped comrades from the top, but the Rangers made short work of their assistance. Dunn asked what they were going to do about the men inside, but Foley ordered them to do nothing. They would run out of oxygen within a few hours anyway.

They ran across the parking lot below and entered a small courtyard. Dunn and Ramirez ran behind Foley, having a small conversation of their own.

"I don't know what's worse, man," Dunn stuttered, his teeth chattering in the cold of the storm. "Dodging these g-g-god d-damned helicopters, or f-freezing my ass off in this m-m-monsoon."

"Hoorah," Ramirez replied in grim agreement. Foley ordered them to cut the chatter as they reached the end of the courtyard. Lightning illuminated the street ahead, showing several soldiers ahead.

"Are they f-friendly?" One of the Rangers asked.

"I don't know," Foley replied as he squinted through the storm to try and make out if they were Russians, American Soldiers, or civilians. He unclipped his flare and ignited the red flame, throwing it ahead and yelling their call sign. He repeated but there was no response.

"Say T-Texas, dammit," Dunn growled under his breath. "Please just say it." Instead, gunfire sounded and bullets flew towards them. It was a short exchange of fire, one that cost them yet another Ranger, but the Russians were eliminated and they were able to move on through the cellar doors of the Eisenhower Building. Ramirez was grateful for the warmth inside, his uniform beginning to dry off as he let the water drip off of himself and fall to the ground below. He saw the bloodied corpse of a Ranger in a darkened corner and went to investigate it. He raised its head to see if he could recover the dog tags when suddenly, the corpse's eyes flung open and it grabbed him around the throat.

The man wasn't dead, nor was he a Ranger. The Russian bellowed as it unsheathed a dagger and plunged it towards his chest. Suddenly, a bullet smashed through the Russian's head as Foley shot his SCAR-H at him. Ramirez gasped in shock, hardly able to believe that he'd come so close to death.

Foley helped him to his feet and he thanked him, Foley giving him a curt nod in response as they continued further into the deeper bowels and recesses of the cellar. At the bottom, they found a large, steel door with a large emblem on the front of it, showing the country's bird, the Eagle, its wings raised proudly. Ramirez couldn't make out everything that was printed on and around the insignia, but they could all see that this was the president's secret underground bunker.

"Whoa, check out the seal on this door!" Dunn exclaimed. "I thought the President's bunker was under the west wing?"

"No, that's just for the tourists," Ramirez replied. "Ever since nine-eleven, there haven't been any actual tours of the President's quarters, the White House, really anything. You just can't trust anyone anymore."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dunn muttered. With that, Foley opened it up, looking inside. He sighed and came back out, cursing under his breath. Dunn looked inside after him, letting out a long, shrill whistle.

"What is it?" Ramirez asked in confusion.

"Well, real or not man, this place is history," he replied, opening the door and allowing the rest of the Rangers to see the inside. The walls were cracked and caving in, the ceiling beginning to collapse.

"I hope that they made it out in time," Ramirez said. With that, they jumped down into the tunnels walked on to Whiskey Hotel.

It's time to finish up the last chapter of our heroes, the US Army Rangers guys! I hope you like my update and that you're all ready for more as this epic story begins to come to an even more epic close! Please guys, make sure to review! I want to know how I'm doing and when you guys hardly review at all I don't know if I'm doing good or not until the end of the story! I've only had 3 review on this story and only 2 on my first one, so please review a bit more as well as in my future stories! Anyhow, as Ghost always says, "Let's do this!"


	16. Ch 15: Whiskey Hotel

"Whiskey Hotel"

Day 5 – 19:28:35, 2016

PVT James Ramirez

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

Washington D.C., U.S.A.

_IMMIDIATE ORDERS ISSUED BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY COUNSIL: _

_All territories from Florida to Maine on the East Coast of the United States of America are to be immediately and promptly leveled to prevent Russian forces from invading the inner states of the country._

_ All United States Armed Forces are to ignite green flares on the roofs of the buildings to signal that they are still combat effective. Everything else outside of a mile radius of the green flares is to be destroyed. _

_ NUCLEAR MATERIALS HAVE BEEN AUTHORIZED._

_ Effects from the recent Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) has left the country from coast-to-coast as well as Northern Mexico, Southern Canada, and a few of the Caribbean Islands are out of power as of now. If you notice any change in electric power, navigation, or communications, turn back immediately as EMP effects may still be in effect._

_ WASHINTON D.C., MANHATTAN, ORLANDO, AND BOSTON ARE SEVERE THREATS._

_ If any of the surviving United States Air Force is still in effect, make sure to communicate with every known channel immediately and call in to relay the orders of green flares immediately. Repeat: green flares to signal that armed forces are combat effective; bombing is only to occur one standard mile outside of the radius of the flares. Nuclear Material has been authorized. Washington D.C., Manhattan, Orlando, and Boston are to be immediately destroyed. There are absolutely no exceptions save for the green flares._

_ /MESSAGE REPEATS/_

"Move, get to Whiskey Hotel!" A Ranger standing at the end of the battered tunnel yelled. A massive, gaping hole in the ceiling allowed gallons to tons of water to flow into the tunnel as the monsoon howled and shrieked outside. The Rangers of Hunter 2-1 walked up to the man at the end, listening to a small radio. To Ramirez, it seemed to be all static and no vocalization, but then again, he wasn't the one with a metal box pressed to his ear.

They scrambled up the ruins of the caved in bunker and outside. Thunder roared and lightning crackled, illuminating the black and red sky. There were Rangers all across the area giving orders, taking them, and firing at a large building in the distance that Ramirez couldn't make out.

"Lay down fire with the two-forty bravos!" A Ranger barked out an order. The Rangers complied and set up machine guns and small turrets to fire at the building. As they crossed the rise, it revealed itself to be Whiskey Hotel, the White House.

Russians crawled all over its massive, broken walls. Pillars had fallen to the ground, walls fell inward, windows were shattered, and the Oval Office was being used as a foxhole bunker. Ramirez couldn't believe his eyes as he stared into the mayhem and chaos in petrified horror. Foley ran up to the Ranger who was giving orders, a Lieutenant Colonel who carried an M16 with an under slung grenade launcher and an ACOG Sight.

Hunter 2-1 ran up to him to see what the situation was. Snipers had been placed on the roof as well as large automated spotlights that were used to seek out the Rangers for the Russians to fire at. Machine Guns were placed at the windows, Submachine Gunners and Assault Rifle Veterans were stationed in and around the White House. Luckily, the very thing that Sergeant Foley had been hoping for was that there was a working power generator in the bowels of the White House.

The power inside was working and was helping them transmit and receive messages from across the country. There was some sort of message that was repeated over and over from the President's bunker in Cheyenne Mountain but they couldn't make out what was being said just yet. The one thing that they could get from the message was that the Air Force was being deployed to the East, which meant that taking the White House was essential. If they didn't, then the Air Force would be wasting their efforts and destroy their only source of electricity that still worked.

In an unspoken agreement, they decided to slowly advance up towards the Oval Office and flank the Russians from the inside. They did so by using the cover of the destroyed aircraft and land vehicles that littered the outside of the White House. Burning cars, two Cobras, and what remained of an F18 laid sprawled about the battlefield. Rushing up the destroyed yard, they braved the rain, hail, and fierce winds of the monsoon while returning fire with the Russians who had taken the White House.

Sniper and machine gun fire plummeted down from the White House, smashing into the Rangers and the ground around them, tearing their cover to shreds. Luckily, their bullets could not so easily penetrate the wreckages of vehicles that lay littered about. A spotlight above the Oval Office flickered on, turning towards them. Ramirez hid behind a Cobra, trying to stay out of the sight of it. Luckily, it didn't see him and continued turning to the main assault force forming up in front of it. Russians dug inside of the building and on the rooftops began to unleash fire down on them, forcing the survivors to take cover.

Ramirez-who still retained his under slung M203 Grenade Launcher-arched the trajectory of the shot and fired at the spotlight. The force of the grenade and the light hooked up to a portable generator caused a massive chain reaction that annihilated all of the Russians on the roof. After they eliminated the last vestiges of the Russian forces guarding the entrance, Foley, Dunn, Ramirez, and the last two marines of Hunter 2-1 ran inside the Oval Office/Bunker.

Foley searched around and listened to the radio, then, with eyes full of panic, he turned to the window and looked outside yelling, "Dunn, get the door!" Dunn, however, was preoccupied with a picture on the wall. He removed it to reveal the source of a transmission. He and Ramirez heard it well enough to know that the Air Force was going to level Washington D.C. The mere thought was mad enough, but the fact that they were in the very center of the imminent bombing runs was insanity.

"Sarge?" Dunn cried, his eyes wide. "Are you hearing this?"

"That's why we've got to move, Corporal!" Foley snarled. Dunn, getting the hint in his voice, kicked open the door and they rushed in through the halls. Russians supplying themselves with ammunition in the main library were immediately cut down by the Rangers as they advanced inside. A stray bullet flew into Richardson, killing him. Ramirez swore and fired three shots at the Russian who fired it. Realizing he had no more ammunition, he ejected the magazine, inserted the second, and continued inside, keeping in mind that he was now down to two more magazines.

Inside of the control room of the conference room of the White House, they were met with a host of Russian forces entrenched in the offices and monitor stations. They continued to push on, however, until they reached the end of the offices. Then, two massive figures entered the office: Russian Juggernauts. They were covered in matte black armor that made them seem at least four times their size. They dove behind cover as the Juggernauts unleashed a hail of M249A1 Heavy Machine Gun fire on their positions.

Dunn heard something on the radio and hid behind a wall trying to figure out what was being said on the other end of the line. Another Ranger went down, leaving Foley and Ramirez to take care of the Juggernauts. Ramirez had never seen one before, so he learned the aggravating way that even an entire magazine of M4A1 fire wasn't enough to take one down, leaving him with only one magazine left.

"SARGE!" Dunn screamed.

"What?" Foley called back, unhooking the pin on a hand grenade.

"You've got to hear what the Air Force is registering!" Dunn replied.

"I'm a bit busy, Dunn!" Foley growled. He threw the grenade and it hit the wall. It detonated, bringing the wall down and with it, the ceiling. The Juggernauts were crushed under the weight and killed instantly.

"Listen!" Dunn called, tossing him the radio.

"This is Sergeant Foley of Hunter 2-1 Actual," Foley breathed into the radio, glaring at Dunn. "What do you got?"

"-nuclear weaponry and high heat seeking missiles and bombs have been authorized. The bombing of Washington D.C. will commence in two standard minutes-" Foley dropped the gun as soon as the man said that they had two minutes to spark the green flares on the roof.

"COME ON!" Foley yelled. They followed him through the halls and corridors of the White House. Near the top, they were met with more Russians entrenched in the area ahead. Foley swore and ran behind the pillars in the hall. Dunn and Ramirez did so as well, but Foley sprinted to Ramirez and handed him a flare.

"You've got to get to the roof!" Foley screamed over the gunfire. "Stop those damn flyboys from blowing us to pieces!"

"What about you?" Ramirez asked.

"If you don't deploy those flares," Foley said, loading a new magazine. "There won't be any of us left to worry about. Now go, get to the roof! That's an order!" Ramirez nodded, strapped the M4A1 on his back and sprinted past the Russians and up the stairs. There was now only thirty seconds remaining, which meant time was of the essence. A Russian stepped out and pointed an AK47 at him, but Ramirez slammed into him, turned the AK47 on him, and fired the gun into its owner.

He sprinted further up until he noticed a hole in the wall leading to an office that overlooked the whole of Washington D.C. in its destroyed, burning state.

"This is Private James Ramirez of Hunter 2-1 Actual!" Ramirez screamed into the radio. "We are still combat effective! STOP THE BOMBS!" He ignited the green flares and banged them together, scattering the green, artificial flames around the area. Two F-22 fighters rocketed across the sky. He raised his arms higher and showed the flares off to the fighters.

It was a tantalizing, heart stopping moment when he could live or die. The F-22s flew closer and closer, and Ramirez knew he was going to die. He closed his eyes and with one last effort, banged the flares together three more times, and then thrust his arms into the air.

The F-22s flew past him, a bomb nor missile never dropping onto the White House. He opened his eyes and yelled out a massive battle cry: "HOORAH!" He screamed. The Rangers surrounding the White House called back the battle cry as they finished off the Russians. He dropped the flares to the ground and stood there, looking out across the miles of burning land that he had once called home.

The Washington Memorial still stood strong, though not without damage done to it. Fire and smoke drifted into the sky as the monsoon came to an end, leaving only sparks and ashes to fall to the ground.

Dunn and Foley walked up behind him, joining him on the ledge to look out over their homeland. For the moment, they had won. Against impossible odds, they had fought off the Russians from the capital of their country. They didn't know if it could ever possibly restored to its former glory, but knew that if they ever did rebuild, the United States of America would never be the same again.

"So," Ramirez breathed. "When do you think we're going to Moscow; I'm ready for some payback."

"Not soon enough, man," Dunn replied. "But I know that we're going to burn the entire city down when we get there."

"When the time is right, gentlemen," Foley said. "When the time is right."

**Sorry for the short chapter guys and sorry that I haven't been updating as much as normal. I have a lot of studying to do at the moment and I'm also trying to get through my eighth prestige in Black Ops and first prestige in Modern Warfare 3 as well as rank up in Halo 3 and Halo Reach while continuing to make Youtube videos. Also, I'm reading books I got for Christmas and writing an actual book that I will be sending in to get published when it's finished, so as you can see, I have a lot on my plate right now. I changed the settings so that you don't have to have an account or be logged on to write a review, but please review the story so far! I'd like it if you guys tried to review more so I know what you guys think and what I'm doing good on and what I need to improve on! Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter!**

**-WOLF OUT**


	17. Ch 16: Loose Ends

"Loose Ends"

Day 6 – 15:36:12, 2016

SGT Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

Georgian-Russian Border

"_It's been a trying week, gentlemen," Shepherd sighed, rubbing his gaunt eyes. He sat in the command office of the President's bunker. He hadn't slept for nigh on four days, too busy to so much as blink. He stood in front of the holographic transponder, viewing the whole of the Task Force 141, Price, Soap, Roach, and Ghost standing in the front. Shepherd had since forgiven Price's actions when launching the nuclear EMP, but that didn't mean that he needed to particularly happy about the ordeal. "But we will recover._

_ "I've got a blank check, and we're going to spend every cent of it on our efforts to kill Makarov. He's almost destroyed the entire United States, forcing us to flatten half of the east coast. Washington D.C. and New York City are currently stable, so we didn't have to destroy them. Unfortunately, there is still a large Russian force in the states. Makarov did all of this; he's an evil man hiding in these shadows and it's all up to us to bring him into the light. Despite what the world may say, we do not kill civilians; we use precision. It's time to take payback and clear our names." _

_ He tapped a few buttons on the console next to him and brought up a holographic display image of two locations on Earth: the Airplane Boneyard in Afghanistan and a luxurious estate near the Georgian and Russian border._

_ "Once his face is revealed, we will be writing history, gentlemen," Shepherd said._

_ "So, these are the last safe havens left on Earth for Makarov and his men, right?" Soap asked._

_ "That's correct, Captain MacTavish," Shepherd replied. _

_ "So, there's a fifty-fifty chance of taking out Makarov, eh?" Ghost asked. "That sounds like we've got to be in two places at once."_

_ "Is that entirely impossible?" Shepherd asked._

_ "Not for the 141," Price replied firmly. _

_ "Captain Price," Roach spoke up. "Requesting permission to take the safe house with Ghost and our team in Russia?"_

_ "Granted," Price replied. "Soap and I will take the rest of the force and Shadow Company to the Boneyard in Afghanistan." _

_ "Very well," Shepherd breathed with finality. "I'll assemble Shadow Company and send them en route to your men, Captain Price. Ghost and Roach, I'll send an evacuation and demolition crew to your position to retrieve you once your mission is complete. This all ends now."_

_ "Strange," Price muttered. "I could have sworn this war ended yesterday."_

Roach, Ghost, Scarecrow, Ozone, Worm, Charles, and Edward sat on the ridge, overlooking the forest ahead. There was a slight autumn chill in the air as the wind blew past them, rustling the leaves of the trees that were beginning to change color. Charles and Edward were outfitted in stealth-readied Ghillie suits, loading their prototype MK10 EBR Sniper Rifles with magazines holding the deadly Saber Rounds. Charles carried an M4A1 SOPMOD strapped to his back, while Edward strapped a Javelin missile to his, readying six rockets that were included in the Care Package. Their job was to hang back and provide surveillance on the ridge as Roach, Ghost, and the team infiltrated the estate.

The large house sat in the center of the forest no less than a kilometer away. Solar Heat Panels were constructed in the south to provide natural electricity from within. So far as they knew, the Russians-nor Makarov-had sighted them yet. No one had even left the house in fact. The Chinooks dropped them off several miles outside of range of any known UAV Sensor radar, forcing the team to walk over twenty miles to the ridge they were at now. The extra precautions the pilots took seemed to be favorable as no one had yet noticed them.

Roach pulled out an M9 pistol and slid it into his holster, making sure his two extra magazines were securely strapped to his waist. Along with them, he carried four magazines of FMJ Saber Rounds for his ACR, two fragmentation grenades, five claymore tripwire mines, and two Flashbangs. The rest of the infantry assault team were acquitted with a similar equipment arsenal at their full disposal for dealing with Makarov and his men. Apprehension struck Roach as they began to secure their equipment; today, they would finally kill Makarov and end this war. For the moment, it was simply delayed. However, when Makarov was no longer a threat, the world would finally know that America had never done the atrocity they were accused of and they could avoid Makarov's grand scheme of a third World War.

"Snipers in position," Edward reported as he and Charles lined up their sights on the forest below and around the estate safe house. "No enemy movement detected; you're clear to move in."

"Roger that," Ghost complied, leading the troops down the hill. Birds called to each other throughout the forest, small animals dashed through the undergrowth, and all seemed peaceful. They walked down the hill, leaves and twigs crunching under their feet.

Suddenly, a small, circular object shot into the air in front of Roach-a 'Bouncing Betty' mine. Roach immediately fell to the ground as the explosion went off. He struggled to his feet, disoriented, as he spotted Russians with AK47s and RPGs on the mountain ridge to the left. Ghost screamed something that was incoherent to Roach, but he knew that the Russians had to be stopped. Raising his ACR, he clicked off the safety and fired at the Russians before they could open fire on them.

The ground shook as something hit it. A large mortar shell smashed into the ground in front of him, knocking over trees. Then, more Russians emerged from the forest and opened fire on them. They had walked directly into Makarov's ambush. A Ghillie Sniper arose from the grass, aiming a Dragunov at them-its sights trained directly on Roach.

**The Boneyard, Afghanistan**

Soap loaded his MP5 and MK10 EBR, walking behind Price. He wore an old, tethered cowboy hat. He nodded to it and asked, "Where did that come from?"

"Armory," Price replied with a smile. Soap grinned and the two of them formed up with the rest of the Task Force 141. To the right of their large group, an even large group that made up General Shepherd's elite forces, Shadow Company, walked beside them. The new United States Military Commander, Jason West-the new nicknamed 'Overlord'- was providing information and coverage for their operation in Afghanistan.

Soap was still immensely surprised that Baseplate was not helping them as they were closer, but he was not going to contemplate the reason for it. After all, Overlord needed more experience in his position, and now he had his shot. They advanced through the destroyed planes into the Boneyard when suddenly, a T-55 appeared and fired its cannons, tearing into their forces. The battle had begun.

**Pentagon, Washington D.C.**

Ramirez was low on ammunition-again. Hiding behind the terminals in the Pentagon's War Room-at least what was left of it-he took fire from all sides as Russian Spetsnaz swarmed into the half destroyed building like gnats drawn to human flesh. Ramirez briefly remembered what had transpired since they had taken the White House. Soon after the Air Force cleared out what was left of the city, destroying nearly everything that wasn't marked with green flares, they had used the now-functioning radio communications to call in the Overlord.

The man who answered, however, was not Overlord. He was a man in his twenties, hardly over Ramirez's age. After much argument of protocol and clearance, General Shepherd informed them that Overlord had been killed when he was caught in the EMP's blast radius. The man they were talking to, Jason West, was their new commanding Overlord. They all agreed in an unspoken manner that they didn't so much like the man.

Overlord ordered them to search the Pentagon for surviving personnel and to eliminate any Russians that were still inside. They quickly complied and ran through the burning streets of the crumbling Washington D.C. toward the Pentagon. The massive building was half destroyed from the Russian bombers, but according to the Air Force, green flares had been deployed by possible survivors inside and it was now their job to extract them.

Once they got inside, the gloomy feeling of darkness followed them throughout the facility. The control rooms, offices, and quarters were completely annihilated. The ceiling was caving in in several places, fires had been ignited inside, and they were supposed to find survivors in the wreckage.

Once they got to the War Room, they searched inside and tried the coms but received no answer. Foley and Dunn went down into the bowels of the Pentagon to find the survivors if they were taking cover inside, ordering Ramirez to stay outside and guard the entrance. He happily complied, grateful for a break. After two full hours, Ramirez began to get bored and searched the War Room for intelligence and data modules that might have proven useful to them and the rest of the United States as a whole. It was also a way to retain his overall sanity before he succumbed to paranoia.

What he found, however, was quite confusing. There were records he found in the system-after he hacked into it, of course-that were all between several contacts within the United States and Russia. After further research, Ramirez discovered that the messages were broadcasted from General Shepherd in his retiring hours of the day. The contacts reached as far as eastern Russia to the heart of Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan.

For another hour, he searched into the system to find whom he was contacting. He found data references of things called 'Operation Kingfish', 'Imran/Victor Zakhaev', 'Khaled Al-Asad', 'Vladimir Makarov', 'PFC Joseph Allen', 'Chernobyl', 'Pripyat', and other names and locations that were completely foreign to him. The most frequently contacted people from General Shepherd was 'Imran Zakhaev' and 'Vladimir Makarov'.

More recently within the past five years, however, there was information put under encrypted codes sent to Vladimir Makarov. It took him much hacking and frustration, but he was able to uncover that the shocking evidence he found in General Shepherd's sent files: they included the battle strategies, deployments, and positions of all existing US military deployments. Ramirez was shocked that Shepherd had just freely given out confidential information such as this to foreign powers. It also seemed that he did not have any clearance to do so.

That wasn't all, either. Weapons-guns, knives, rockets, ammunition, armor, even nuclear warheads-were transported to Rio De Janeiro, Moscow, and the capital city of Saudi Arabia. Ramirez couldn't make sense of it, but he never got the chance to, either. Above him, the doors were breached and Russians had swarmed inside and immediately opened fire on him, destroying the computers and monitors around him. Now, he took potshots at the Russians whenever he could get an angle, and he was running dangerously low on ammunition.

"Ra—ez! Wh—you're pos-over?" Foley cried into the radio.

"You're breaking up!" Ramirez yelled back. "Repeat, what was that?"

"Ramirez!" Foley repeated. "There's R-ns all over-can't find-need amm-what's y-pos-over?"

"Sarge, I'm in the War Room!" Ramirez said, still not sure of what Foley was trying to say. "There's Russians all over the damn place! I need backup!"

"Copy—we found-don't tr-Gen-I repeat-don't trust-dammit!"

"Sarge, what's going on?" Ramirez cried. "What's going on? Where are you?"

"Dunn, right!" Foley yelled. Dunn screeched incoherently. "They've got-Ramirez, GET OUT!" Then, there was a great rumbling from beneath him and the war room flew upward, metal, glass, and wires flying every which way. Fire and smoke shrouded his vision as he was smashed into the wall, then he was engulfed and burned in flames.

**Makarov's Estate, Georgian-Russian Border**

"Roach, get up! We've got to go or we're dead before we've even begun!" Ghost screamed. Rock, bark, dirt, and flame flew every which way as the mortar shells smashed into the ground around them. Smoke grenades detonated within the forest, throwing up a thick, massive smoke screen in front of them, covering the Russians as they fell back from sight, randomly firing bullets at the positions of the Task Force 141.

Roach struggled to stand up, bringing himself to his feet in pain. Grabbing his ACR, he followed Ghost behind a small clump of boulders where the rest of the team was taking cover. The Ghillies were busy firing at the Russians through the smoke with their thermal sights that they had decided to bring along with the variable zoom sights.

"The Russians have pre-sighted this area with mortar fire," Ghost told them.

"Want to tell us something we don't know?" Roach growled irritably. Ghost turned to look at him, and Roach knew that underneath his mask and sunglasses that he was glaring coldly at him. Ghost began to formulate a plan to get through the smoke screen when suddenly, a missile flew high into the air from the direction of the estate. They watched as it flew high into the air, then plummeted to the ground right for them.

They dashed into the smoke, figuring that their chances blind against prepared enemies were better than getting blown to pieces behind rocks. They pushed through the smoke and out into the open, firing at the Russians and finishing off those who began to run away from them. When all was clear, they moved up to the Solar Heat Panels just a few hundred meters from the Estate.

Two armored vehicles began to drive away down the dirt road. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, they raised their weapons and fired at the trucks. The bullets impacted on the metal and glass, but it only left scratches and small cracks. The trucks had been reinforced for bulletproof capabilities, not allowing them to hit the trucks. Two large missiles flew from the ridge, each one smashing into the trucks, annihilating them. No one could have possibly survived the explosions, nor the crushing force of the missiles hitting them.

Not sighting Makarov, the Ghillies reported that the trucks were most likely decoys to throw them off track, and no one else had exited the house from any side. They complied and moved up to the sides, placing frame charges on the doors. Roach and Ghost formed up on the front door, and then swung in as the frame charge blew it inward. They fired at the Russians inside, clearing the house of all enemies inside. Roach cleared out the top floor and found several weapons caches, mainly including M240 Medium Machine Guns, AK47s, TAR-21s, AK74u Submachine Guns, and RPGs.

Down in the basement, the team discovered an extensive armory that included hundreds of assault rifles, magazines, bullets, grenades, mines, and hundreds of lethal weapons for Makarov's private army. As they formed up on the main floor, they checked the various computers, monitors, papers, blueprints, and schematics that were lying around the house. Roach went into the living room-at least, it would have been a living room if it wasn't used for Makarov's safe house-and looked at the pictures on the table.

Many of them were pictures of Zakhaev National Airport, providing Makarov with every single detail of the place. He must have been planning his attack for a long time, Roach thought. As it was, Makarov had been plotting and planning ever since Zakhaev's death, just waiting for the chance to attack for these five long years.

There were pictures that Roach recognized, too: one of them he had seen while in Pripyat, featuring Price, Soap, and the rest of Bravo 6, their old unit within the British SAS. Makarov had been planning this for a long time, that was true, but there were information sheets around the room that made far less sense. There was a photograph of General Shepherd with a red letter X placed at the bottom right of the paper. He had no idea what quarrel Makarov had with Shepherd, but then again, Makarov hated all Americans. Perhaps he was Makarov's primary target? He was sure that he would find out soon enough, but continued to search the house.

"Scarecrow, take some photographs," Ghost ordered as Scarecrow went off to do as he was told. "Captain Price, General Shepherd, this is Ghost. There is no sign of Makarov, I repeat, there is no sign of Makarov. Is there any luck in Afghanistan?"

"Plenty," Price replied. "There are at least fifty hired gunmen here with their own individual squadrons and regiments but like with you, there's no sign of Makarov. Of course, our intel was off as always."

"Well the quality of the intel is about to change, sir," Ghost reported. "This safe house is a bloody gold mine."

"Copy that, Ghost," Shepherd spoke up. "Now, I want your team to collect everything for an Operations Playbook. I want names, dates, locations; hell, I want you to get everything left in that house."

"We're already on it sir," Ghost reported. "Makarov will have nowhere left to run."

"That's the idea," Shepherd said. "I'll get an extraction force ETA five minutes. Get that intel secure and meet me in the fields to the south. Shepherd out." Ghost nodded to Roach and Roach returned the gesture. He grabbed a DSM Transfer Module from his pack and hooked it up to the main computer module in the front of the house. He clicked a button and the module began to siphon all of the data from the computer and saved it on the DSM.

"This is it," Roach muttered.

**Pentagon, Washington D.C.**

Ramirez coughed and stood up from the rubble of the War Room. All of the Russians were killed from the blast, but Ramirez had somehow managed to survive. He couldn't find his M4A1, but he still retained his M9 and his magazines were still securely strapped to his belt. His grenades and Flashbangs were gone as well, but he doubted that he would have need for them. When he stood up, however, his right leg immediately began to crumple from beneath him, causing him to fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He groaned and looked down at his leg to see that there was a large metal shard embedded in his shin. Blood dripped out in a puddle beneath him and he could see the yellow-white muscle tissue beneath his skin. He leaned against the battered walls and pulled his leg closer to him. With a mighty effort, he tore the shard from his leg. He screamed in agony and the blood poured out like a torrent. Quickly, he tore off his arm sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the wound, temporarily preventing the bleeding.

He began to feel dizzy and sick, and he released his gorge on the railway. He coughed up blood and spat chunks onto the metal next to him. He lied down on his side opposite of where he did so and curled up in a tight ball, hoping beyond all hope that unconsciousness would cause the pain to ebb and subside from him, letting him to forget about the pain. Unfortunately, that would also mean that he might not ever wake up again. Not wanting to take the risk, he forced himself to stand. His leg felt like rubber and he realized that not only had he lost far too much blood from the wound, but his femur must have snapped in several different places. He began to bind his leg with more of his uniform, creating a makeshift cast around his leg.

Satisfied that it would hold, he grabbed the M9 and limped down into the wrecked War Room. The entire place was made of technology, causing the entire room to spark and burst into flame. Ramirez jumped down into the hole in the floor, landing on his left side so he would not suffer any more damage on his right. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt, though.

He forced himself up and grabbed a small flashlight from his utility belt. He shined it down the darkened halls, aiming his M9 down after the light. Against impossible odds, he knew that Dunn and Foley could have survived. They must have survived. They could survive almost anything, couldn't they? Nevertheless, he advanced down the halls, hunting for his lost friends and those who caused so many Americans pain. No Russians would stop him from finding them. If they tried…

_Well,_ Ramirez thought. _They'd better not._

**The Boneyard, Afghanistan**

The Little Bird flew overhead, its guns spinning up as it targeted a new batch of Russians across the field. Two BTRs that Shadow Company had commissioned-after stealing them from the Russians, of course-thundered past the men as they tore into the flanks that were guarding the planes ahead. Soap may not have known what their exact intentions were, but considering the fact that they were dug in so deep and were desperately trying to hold them back, he was guessing that Makarov was somewhere up ahead.

Firing his MP5K Submachine gun-not Soap's favorite weapon, for he preferred the classic MP5 to the smaller version which undoubtedly had far more recoil-Soap advanced forward with Captain Price.

"Any word from Ghost?" Soap asked. Price nodded.

"They're recovering the data in the safe house," Price informed him. "Now we've just got to kill Makarov and end this once and for all."

"Just like old times, eh?" Soap said.

"Just like old times." Price agreed with a grin.

**Pentagon, Washington D.C.**

"Sarge!" Ramirez called into the darkness, heedless of what lie ahead. His only response was sparks flying from the lights on the ceiling and the panels on the walls. Water sprayed from broken pipes, beginning to flood the hallway. Ramirez limped further down until he was met with an intersection. Not knowing where to go, he chose to randomly choose a path to see if he could find Dunn and Foley.

The flashlight wavered in the darkness and he slipped as the water began to rise. Knowing with a sense of urgency that he needed to find them, he quickened his already slow pace through the halls. He called for them once more, but yet again, there was no answer. The deeper he went the darker it became, and the halls were already beginning to flood as the pipes and water valves burst from the explosion.

Ramirez was now walking through fourteen inches of water, his feet splashing through the dark water. His leg began to feel warm and sticky again, signaling to him that his wound had begun to bleed again. He felt lightheaded and knew that if he didn't find Foley and Dunn and get out of there, he'd pass out and drown in the halls.

Refusing to meet such a cruel, unforgiving fate, he bent over to tighten the makeshift bandage and continued on. A dark shape appeared at the end of the hall. He was limping as a metal pole stuck out of his kneecap. His shin was bent in a disgustingly awkward form. Ramirez shined the light down the hall, but he couldn't make out the uniform of the man to determine if he was a Russian or a Ranger, even, perhaps, one of the men who had signaled the flares before the bombers had flattened the city.

"Star!" Ramirez called out to the man. He shined the light down at him, aiming the M9. The man looked up and quickly began to draw a gun from his holster. His movements were slow and sluggish, though, and Ramirez was able to kill him before he could even click off the safety of the gun. Again he advanced down the halls, calling out to Dunn and Foley.

Then, he heard a low groan from a doorway nearby. Ramirez called out the Ranger's call sign, waiting for a response. He called again, but there was nothing. Then, "R-Ramirez? We're over here." It was Dunn.

Fast as his crippled body would carry him, Ramirez rushed into the room that his voice came from and saw Dunn and Foley slumped against a wall. Half of the ceiling had come down and was crushing them. Frantically, Ramirez began to tear off the tiles and stray parts that trapped them. Both Dunn and Foley were burned and beaten. Dunn was barely conscious but didn't appear to be too hurt, just battered. Foley on the other hand was unconscious and badly scalded. One side of his face was torn, a large shiny gash that led at least three centimeters inward left muscle tissue and raw sinew from underneath Foley's burned flesh exposed to the open air.

Once Ramirez cleared the way for Dunn, he helped him up and asked him if he was alright. Dunn confirmed his health and together began to free Foley from the wreckage. A large metal beam blocked them from getting Foley out safely, forcing Ramirez to shove all of his weight onto the beam so Dunn could drag his body out from the wreckage. His bones popped and his muscles strained as he dragged the unconscious Sergeant out from the rubble.

Once he was out, Ramirez let the beam fall back down, relieving him of his burden. Quickly, Ramirez told Dunn about the damage the explosion had caused and that the Pentagon was flooding. Dunn's eyes widened and together they picked up Foley and rushed through the halls. Ramirez's leg burned and his mind screamed at him to stop, but he knew that if he did, he was a dead man. The water was now past their knees and was rising quicker than before.

Sparks flashed as the Pentagon tore itself to pieces, the water illuminated a bright, vibrant blue as they went off. As they dragged Foley forward, Dunn explained to Ramirez what had happened: they had searched the entire lower floor of the Pentagon when they saw someone moving around in the labs. When they went to investigate, they found an old technician muttering incoherently to himself as he examined papers strewn about the room.

When Dunn and Foley asked who the man was, he simply muttered gibberish about being betrayed by his own. When they looked around the room, they found photographs of people that they recognized and people that they did not. One of those people was General Shepherd, a red letter X at the bottom right of the paper. They couldn't make sense of the situation at first until the man finally explained who 'The Betrayer' was.

Ramirez's eyes widened in shock as he heard him say the most stunning news of all; his mind rebelled against what he had said, and he denounced the man's words as foolish. Dunn looked at Ramirez in despair saying that he only wished it was. The man gave them proof of what was truly happening right under their noses, why the war was really going on and why it had truly started. Then, the Russians were all over them and killed the man before they could get any more information out of him. One of the Russians carried a bomb that they were going to use to annihilate the Pentagon, but one of the Russians fired a bullet at the wrong place. It ricocheted off the metal walls and hit the bomb, detonating it upon impact. Dunn was pushed down the maintenance hatch below and into the sewers below, Foley taking the blunt of the explosion.

"He saved my life," Dunn said, his eyes clouded with worry for their Sergeant's condition. "When I finally came to, I picked up Foley and tried to drag him out of the hatch. That was when the ceiling collapsed and trapped us."

Finally, they came to the War Room's elevator shaft. After many apprehensive moments, the doors parted and allowed them access, as well as nearly four feet of water. They closed the doors just as the main valve exploded, sending all of the water from the pipes and waterlines in and around the Pentagon surging forward in a colossal tsunami of liquid in the lower levels of the Pentagon. Fortunately, they made it out before they were caught in the waves.

"Did I miss something?" Foley moaned, his eyes beginning to pry themselves open. Dunn and Ramirez laughed despite their predicament and they carried Foley outside of the Pentagon. There, a Black Hawk was landing, several soldiers stepping out of it to greet them.

"We need a medic!" Dunn cried. One of them nodded and rushed to Foley's aid, only to be stopped short by another. Dunn and Ramirez looked at each other quizzically, completely stumped as to why he was stopping the medic from tending to Foley's injuries. "Hey, what's your deal? The Sarge here needs help!" The man didn't answer immediately, but when he did, it was not the answer they had hoped for.

"My name is Lieutenant Morgan," the man said coldly. Ramirez was slightly intimidated by the mask and visor he was wearing, covering his face. All of the soldiers, even the medic, wore them. "We're from Shadow Company."

**Makarov's Estate, Georgian-Russian Border**

"There's an enemy Hilo coming from the south of the estate!" Scarecrow cried. Roach turned around and sure enough, a Hind was flying from across the lake towards them. Roach called in for the sniper team to take them out, only to be informed that their Javelin missiles were running dangerously low. Roach didn't have time for their worries, however, and ordered them to fire it anyway. They grumbled at the other end of the radio, but fired the rocket nevertheless.

The data transfer was taking far longer than it should have to complete, and they had been holding off the Russian forces for nearly half an hour. The transfer continuously delayed as well, only adding to the tension amongst the group. Roach ran up to the DSM and glared at the dusty screen, only to see that it was only ninety-four percent complete. He swore and retook his position at the window, firing at the Russians coming from the boat house to the south.

They were outnumbered, outgunned, and barely holding out, waiting for a bloody computer to decide their fate. Suddenly, a bullet flew through the window and smashed into Scarecrow's skull. Roach cried out and sprinted to Scarecrow, but it was already too late-he was dead before he hit the floor. Infuriated, Roach threw a frag grenade down the hill and fired bullets into their chest areas to add the most pain; they deserved no less for killing so many people. Couldn't the Russians see that they were trying to save the world, not destroy it? Obviously not, thought Roach. Else this war would have ceased to exist the day it began.

Then, the computer began to beep uncontrollably. Roach rushed to the monitor and gasped in relief as the bar read 'Installation Completed'. Roach called out to Ghost who was taking up a position in the office with Worm and Ozone. The three of them followed Roach as he grabbed the DSM and hooked it to his belt. They sprinted down the hill, gunfire flying after them. A bullet hit Ozone and he went down. He struggled to stand back up and run after them, but more flew into him before he could make the vain attempt.

Worm suffered the fate of dying by the cold, metallic clutches of a mortar shell. That left Ghost and Roach to sprint down the hill and get to the evacuation site in the field just beyond the forest. The two dodged bullets, mortars, grenades, and RPG fire as they made their harried escape. Mortars rained down inside and around the forest. Trees snapped like twigs, boulders were blown to pieces, and the hill was torn apart as easily as wet paper. As they neared the field, Roach could see at least twenty helicopters rising from the forest beyond, bullets and rockets already tearing into the Russian forces behind them. Then, with a skull-jolting explosion, a mortar smashed directly next to Roach, throwing him across the field.

"Roach, don't worry!" Ghost screamed. "I've got you! Dagger Two-One, I've popped red smoke at the tree line! Standby to engage on my mark!"

"Roger that, 141, we're spinning up the big guns!" The pilot of the Little Bird replied. Ghost handed Roach an AK47 and began to drag him across the field towards the fleet of helicopters.

**Go to this link and listen to this song: .com/watch?v=T23ea6pulRM**

Roach began to fire upon the Russians in the forest with his AK47, but his vision was beginning to ebb and fade as he did so. None of the bullets hit, but Dagger Two-One's machine guns were doing the work for him. Suddenly, a bullet flew into Roach's chest. He screamed in pain, releasing the AK47 as Ghost continued to drag him across the field. He closed his eyes, losing consciousness.

"Come on!" Ghost yelled. "Get up, get up! We're almost there!" Roach painfully struggled to his feet as Ghost supported him. Ahead, a Chinook was landing in the field, the grass billowing and waving as they neared. General Shepherd, clad in his United States Military uniform, stepped out to greet them.

"Do you have the DSM?" He called.

"Don't worry, we've secured it sir!" Ghost replied. Shepherd put Roach's arm over his shoulder to help support him. A look of relief washed over him.

"Good that's one less loose end," he said. Then, with a swift, precise movement, he pulled out a .44 Magnum and shot Roach in the stomach. With a gasp, he fell to the ground, tasting and seeing blood.

"NO!" Ghost screamed. He raised his ACR to fire, but Shepherd was faster. He shot Ghost, the bullet tearing through his chest and flying out of his abdomen. He too, fell to the ground. Shepherd solemnly gathered the DSM from Roach and walked away, ordering two of the soldiers in Shadow Company to dispose of their remains.

**Pentagon, Washington D.C.**

"We've got to get him help!" Ramirez said to Lieutenant Morgan. "If we don't, he's going to bleed to death!" The man regarded him with an expressionless face under his mask. Slowly, he began to nod in what Ramirez assumed was understanding. He raised his fist behind him, a signal to the men of Shadow Company. Ramirez blew out a sigh of relief as they circled them.

That's when they noticed something was wrong. They aimed their M4A1s, SCAR-Hs, and ACRs at the three dumbfounded Rangers. Morgan held up his fingers, giving them another order. Gunfire lit up the outside of the Pentagon as they fired into the bodies of Sergeant Foley, Corporal Dunn, and Private Ramirez.

**The Boneyard, Afghanistan**

"Something's not right here," Price muttered as they continued to fight off Makarov's forces and push closer into the Boneyard. He hadn't heard from Ghost, Roach, or any of the Task Force 141 in Russia for some time.

A Little Bird soared overhead, a BTR thundered past them. They had fortunately suffered only a few casualties, but Price was unsure of what was going to happen next. Then, Shadow Company encircled the Task Force as Price began to radio in on Ghost's channel. The soldiers raised their weapons, training them on Price, Soap, and the Task Force 141. Price and Soap stood back to back, knowing it would be the last time they did so.

As their so-called allies opened fire on them, Price screamed into the radio, warning Ghost. "Ghost, come in, this is Price! Shepherd's men are attacking us in the Boneyard! Do not trust Shepherd, I say again, DO NOT TRUST SHEPHERD!" Suddenly, the Little Bird returned, training its rockets on Soap.

"SOAP, LOOK OUT!" Price screeched. The last thing he saw was his friend engulfed in the flames.

**Extraction Zone, Georgian-Russian Border**

Roach was thrown into a shallow ditch, his lifeless body grinding against the stone and dirt. He coughed and groaned in pain. Looking to his left, he saw the already-dead body of Ghost thrown in after him, his body twisting and turning as it tumbled in. It all happened in slow motion, paining him even more.

Something splashed onto Roach's body, causing him to start and he looked around for the source of it. He looked up at a man pouring something on him. _Gasoline_, Roach thought. After he left, the figure of General Shepherd appeared above him, blotting out the bright rays of the sun. He blew smoke from his mouth as he took out his cigar. Then, he flicked it at Roach. The gasoline burst into flames and Shepherd gave a malicious, satisfied smile of contempt. With that, he walked away with Shadow Company. The last thought that Roach had before he entered the darkness of the void was, I_t's over. We failed. It's all over. _The flames devoured them, all according to Shepherd's plan.

**Well guys, this was my longest chapter of 6,178 words and 13 pages! It was hard for me to write this and make it more in depth and make the song seem more dramatic with the deaths of our favorite characters, but are all of them really dead? Well don't ask me! Keep reading and find out what happens in the last few chapters of Modern Warfare 2 as we lead into Modern Warfare 3!**

**Also, I worked VERY hard on this chapter and I would greatly appreciate it if you guys can all review it. I really want to know what you think about it and tell me how it is! (Also I won't continue the next chapter until I get at least three review from you guys, so make sure to leave one if you want me to continue the story!) **

**Sorry for having to do that to you guys, but like I said, I worked for six days on this chapter hardly doing anything else and I really want to know what you guys all think! Anyhow, enjoy the chapter and leave a review!**

**WOLF OUT.**


	18. Ch 17: The Enemy of My Enemy

"The Enemy of My Enemy"

Day 6 – 16:03:69, 2016

CPT John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141

The Boneyard, Afghanistan

"_Roach?" Soap called into the radio. "Ghost? Come in Ghost! This is Captain Soap MacTavish! Do you copy, does anyone out there copy?" Soap was frantic, practically on the verge of panic as he searched every available channel that led to the radio communications used by Ghost and Roach's team in Russia. There was no response from any of them, and Soap was utterly alone. When he awoke, he found himself alone in the clearing, surrounded by rotting corpses. Sickened, he searched the bodies, dreading to find Price among the dead._

_ Not again, Soap pleaded. Please, not again! Fortunately, Captain Price was not among the dead, but nor was he among the living. Soap looked around the massacre and found no one, not even Shadow Company. Figuring that Price must have been captured by Shepherd's men, he set off in the direction they had been heading: towards Makarov._

_ He tried Price's radio, and luckily he answered it unlike the men in Russia. _

_ "Price, I can't get a hold of Roach or Ghost," Soap reported. "Shepherd's probably jamming-"_

_ "They're dead Soap," Price growled flatly. "Your General's busy cleaning house; I'm working my way back to you, just hold your current position."_

_ Fury washed over Soap as he let Price's words sink in. Roach and Ghost were both dead. Killed in Action. KIA. _Gone_. Forever. He seethed as he realized what was truly happening. General Shepherd had played them like puppets in his own masterfully deceptive game. If they were the puppets, then that meant that Shepherd was the puppeteer. Perhaps it wasn't even Makarov that started the war, but Shepherd instead._

_ "Shepherd betrayed us," Soap snarled._

_ "You've got to trust someone to be betrayed," Price said. "That's why I never did. Nikolai, this is Price, do you have our location?"_

_ "Da, inbound Price!" Nikolai replied from the other end of the radio. "But I am not the only one! You've got Shepherd's men on one side and Makarov's on the other."_

_ "Speaking of the bastard," Price said. "I know Makarov's communications channel."_

_ "Patch us through," Soap growled. Price complied and they were met with static and the sound of gunfire in the background._

_ "Makarov, this is Captain Price," he said. "Shepherd's a war hero now and he's got your operations playbook. Both of us are wanted men, so we can help each other. Give me what you've got on Shepherd and I'll take care of the rest." There was still no response. "I know you can hear me on this channel, Makarov, and we both know that you won't last a week."_

_ "And neither will you." Makarov retorted flatly._

_ "Makarov, have you ever heard the old saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"_

_ "Price, one day you are going to find that that saying cuts both ways," Makarov replied. "Nevertheless, Shepherd is a thorn in my side as you would say. He and his men are using Hotel Site Bravo deep in Afghanistan. You know where it is, Price; I'll see you Hell."_

_ "I'm looking forward to it," Price said. "Make sure to give my regards to Zakhaev; you'll be getting their first." That made Makarov give a small chuckle._

_ "We shall see, Captain," Makarov said. "But do not think that this temporary alliance will make me call off my men. If they find you, you'll be giving your own regards. Makarov out."_

_ "I hate that man," Soap growled._

_ "Well there's no helping him," Price said. "This means we'll have to take them both out."_

_ "Or let them take each other out," Nikolai suggested. "Either way, I'll see you on the far side, my friends."_

"Soap, let Makarov and Shepherd's men kill each other off as much as you can!" Price yelled into his radio. "Me and the Rook are heading to Rally Point Bravo to the northwest!"

"Alright," Soap replied. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

"We're hunting down some transport and we'll meet you at the primary LZ at the main road," Price informed him. "Nikolai, do you have transport for us?"

"Da, but there is a sandstorm forming around Kandahar," he replied. "I'm going to have to fly around it. Just get the situation under control before I get there, alright?"

"Fine, Nikolai. Just get here, sharpish!" With that, Price cut the radio link, leaving Soap to deal with the men alone.

The Little Bird's machine guns tore through the Russians with a deadly ease. Soap, dressed in his Ghillie suit, hid behind a large plane as he surveyed the battlefield. The Americans were making short work of the Russians, and Soap knew that meant that they could just as easily make short work of him as well. He clutched his M10 EBR with a tight death grip, trying in vain to coax his mind into ease.

An RPG shot out and hit the Little Bird. It spun around in circles, flipping over and smashing into the ground. It was soon hidden in the bright orange flames of a massive explosion. Shrapnel and severed body parts flew every which way, jettisoned by the force of the helicopter's crash. It was at that moment that Soap witnessed the horrendous brutality that was enforced by the men of Shepherd's army, Shadow Company.

One of the men was caught in the explosion and was crawling across the grass, crying out for help. He was no more than twenty one years old and was screaming in pain. A medic walked up to him, the man holding out a hand for assistance. He took his hand and hefted him up-then brought up a handgun, shoved it under his chin, and fired the bullet through the back of his skull. Blood sprayed from the other side of his head as the bullet tore through his skull, organs, muscle tissue, and flesh. He slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap, the medic kicking the body of his own comrade down in a ditch on the side of the road ahead.

Soap was thoroughly disgusted through and through, his hatred for these men and their evil leader rising when he saw the kid die. Raising his EBR, he aimed at the medic, sighted his forehead, and fired a bullet through his brain. He lurched backward as though someone snapped his spine and he fell backward. No one went to collect his dog tags, and no one went to retrieve his body. The BTR rolled past, tearing into the Russian forces ahead.

What Shepherd had been thinking when he commissioned such ruthless, heartless shells of men into service was beyond Soap's reasoning save for-for. . . a third World War? It seemed as though everything Rojas had told them about Makarov was true, but not directed towards him. Not all of it, at least. Soap never thought that Zakhaev would allow for a psychopath like Makarov to stay unchecked even in his own death if he so much as had a single fraction of a thought that he might bring it to the extreme and ignite a World War. No, Shepherd was behind this somehow, and he was working with Makarov.

How and why Soap knew not, but what he did know was that it was imperative that he, Price, and any of the Task Force 141 that had survived the purge regrouped and took down Shepherd for what he'd done. After what felt like an eternity, the Americans and Russians killed each other off, the rest escaping to regroup with their individual forces.

Taking the moment of opportunity to its fullest and sprinted across the blood stained, gore ridden massacre. The planes and cars littering the area were half destroyed from the fighting, Shadow Company causing the vast majority of the damage. It seemed to Soap that they were keen on annihilating everything in their path, humans, animals, and mechanical parts alike. F-18 Bombers screamed as they flew overhead, destroying more of the Boneyard as Shadow Company pushed forward. If a bomb came too close and accidentally hit one of their own troops, they killed the injured or left them to die, slowly and painfully. Whenever Soap came across these men, he would put them out of their misery that would surely be wrought upon them if they lived any longer.

Just as Nikolai had suggested, Soap allowed Shadow Company and Makarov's men to kill each other as much as possible while he snuck idly by them. A plane lying torn apart allowed him access to the rest of the Boneyard up ahead. As he walkthrough the wreckage, he heard a rumbling sound from above. He raced towards the cockpit-at least, where the cockpit would have been had it not been blown off-and looked out through the gaping hold into the sky.

A massive AC130 flew overhead. The men on the ground several meters below stopped fighting momentarily to watch the plane, trying to determine if it was friendly or not. They didn't, however, seem to care too much and began to resume their bloody conflict. The AC130 fired flares from its sides, blinding the men in the area as it flew away.

"Captain Price!" Nikolai shouted. "I am flying overhead! I see that you do not have the situation under control as I requested!"

"We're working on it Nikolai!" Price growled. "Just get to that LZ. I've found some transport and we'll be getting there soon." He cut the link again and Soap ran forward, this time drawing his compact MP5K Submachine Gun with an attached suppressor, grip, and rapid fire capability. He sprinted up the hill across the street, only to be met with more gunfire. He swore and hid behind cover, waiting for the gunfire to subside enough for him to pass through.

"Captain Price!" Nikolai shouted. "I'm nearing the primary LZ; you're going to have to be quick if you want your rid out of here!"

"Soap, Nikolai's not going to wait for us!" Price said. "Where the bloody hell are you?"

"I'm getting there!" Soap responded, shooting down one of the soldiers. "If I'm not back in two minutes, leave and get out of here!" Price denounced that action, however, as he did not wish to see any more of his friends die.

Finally, there was an air of opportunity as Nikolai's AC130 flew overhead, one of the men inside firing a .50 millimeter cannon shot below, annihilating the men holding Soap back.

"Now, hurry my friend!" Nikolai yelled. Soap thanked Nikolai gratefully and sprinted through the wreckage and the body parts. At the end of the street were several soldiers aiming their weapons at Soap. Suddenly, a Humvee ran into them, throwing their bodies lifelessly away. Price stood from the back and fired several shots into the soldiers with his UMP .45 SMG.

"Get in, now!" He screamed. Soap sprinted ahead and jumped in the front seat. Rook turned back to the wheel and slammed the pedal. The car flew backward and he turned the wheel, making the car screech across the pavement. He shoved the stick in the middle of the car forward and the Humvee lurched forward.

They sped through the remnants of the Boneyard as it was being destroyed. Russians and Shadow Company alike drove their own vehicles around them, shooting at their Humvee as they made their harried escape. Planes exploded as they flew forward, some almost crushing them. A white pickup truck sped in front of them, two Russians shooting at them from the back. Soap ducked down and fired at them through the windshield, killing them both. The drivers, however, were not keen on giving up so quickly.

They turned the car sideways and the driver raised a G18 Full Automatic Pistol out the window. Rook floored the pedal and they smashed into the car, sending it into the engine of a jet. The engine exploded in a massive, blinding light of heat and energy. Rook drove through it, gathering ashes and sparks inside of it. They drove forward and they slammed onto the runway. The AC130 flew low overhead, the wheels and landing gears jutting outward.

Rook turned towards it and sped forward towards the AC130. More cars and armored vehicles entered the area from both sides, shooting at their Humvee. Rook maneuvered around them, his young face tight with concentration.

"Nikolai, lower that bloody ramp!" Price screamed. Nikolai complied and the ramp began to lower, sparks flying out from under it as it scraped across the stone surface. A bullet flew through the already-cracked windshield, flying through the forehead of Rook, killing him instantly. Price and Soap swore in unison as the life left his body. Soap moved his foot to the pedal and slammed it down, taking the wheel as he maneuvered the Humvee to the ramp.

Bullets hit the sides of the car as they made their escape, more flying into the AC130. They flew up the ramp and into the hollowed underbelly of the plane, Soap slamming the breaks as they hit the floor. The door began to close as Soap and Price exited the Humvee. Soap gathered up Rook's body and laid him on a cot to the left, covering his body with a nearby sheet. He gave a short salute and followed Price up the stairs to the cockpit.

"Get out of here, FLY!" Price screamed. Nikolai complied and pulled back on the throttle, the AC130 flying up and over the runway and escaping the Boneyard, leaving behind the chaotic scene behind them.

"What are we going to do now?" Nikolai asked.

"There's a place in Afghanistan we can hide out and refuel," Price replied. "Now we just have to figure out what the bloody hell is going on."

**Sorry for the short chapter, but the mission was short and not very enjoyable (at least for me) so I couldn't make the chapter as long as the previous one. Anyhow, make sure to leave a review! Who else can't wait for MW3? Just three more chapters! Yes I know, there's really only two in the original game, but I'm adding in one of my own that will lead into MW3! **

**-WOLF OUT**


	19. Ch 18: Just Like Old Times

"Just Like Old Times"

Day 7 – 17:31:24, 2016

CPT John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141

Site Hotel Bravo, Afghanistan

_The airfield was abandoned, the runway beginning to crack and weather as the sandstorm that passed through Kandahar earlier blew against its rugged surface. Landing the AC130 on the runway, Nikolai disengaged the landing gears and the massive plane touched down and came to a steady stop at the bottom. They walked outside from the rear hatch, all three of them carrying the limp body of Rook outside of the plane to the base outside._

_ The base was formerly owned by the United States Marines, but they had no use for it half way through their war against Al Qaeda. Price and Soap carried Rook across the runway as Nikolai checked the fuel canisters. He tore off sections of metal when the monitors refused to work and looked inside manually._

_ "There is still fuel left underground!" Nikolai reported. "There is not enough for the '130, but if we can find any vehicles around here, we should be able to fly out of here!" Price grunted an affirmative as they carried Rook inside of the building. Soap laid him on the ground as Price attempted to unlock the metal door. Its access terminal would not accept the codes he typed, so he took out his knife and stabbed the control panel, causing the door to slide open. They took Rook's body and continued inside._

_ Nikolai joined them and helped Soap while Price scouted the rest of the base for any sign for people inside, particularly Shadow Company. The darkened halls cast long, foreboding shadows along the gray metal walls. Soap got an eerie feeling walking through them._

_ When they reached the control room, Soap and Nikolai laid Rook on a table, wrapping his body in a black bag, taking his dog tags from his neck. As habit for Soap, he hung the tags around his neck. The tags he now wore were those of Staff Sergeant Griggs, Gaz, Rook, and one of their Russian allies back in the first war against the Ultranationalists._

_ Not wishing to take any risks, Price refrained from opening the shutters over the windows of the base that overlooked the airfield and training grounds. He gathered any flammable material and set them on a monitor that he sealed off with metal crates so that the flames wouldn't spread. He took out a lighter from his pocket and lit the pile on fire, illuminating the control center._

_ "There," he muttered. "That's better." With that, they gathered around the fire, trying to warm themselves in the cold, dark base. _

_ "What the bloody hell happened?" Soap asked, shaking his head. "Ghost, Roach-for all we know, the entire Task Force-they're all . . . gone." He had difficulty uttering the words, wishing that he could deny the possibility that their friends, men whom they worked with for years, had just been betrayed and murdered in cold blood. His hatred for Shepherd grew as he saw the faces of the men who died in Russia and Afghanistan. _

_ "I may not know everything," Price said. "But I think I can put some pieces together. Remember how Shepherd told us that the Russians acquired the key to every lock in America when they broke through the defenses of the ACS module?"_

_ "Da, I remember," Nikolai spoke. "I couldn't believe it; the ACS was hacked in record time, in mere minutes the Russians got everything."_

_ "Exactly," Price said, standing up. "That was what Shepherd wanted: the only possible way that the Russians could hack the ACS was if they had the passcode into the mainframe, which we all know only the high commanding officers of the nations. Who else could give them that code other than General Shepherd himself? What's more, the ACS crashed for an unknown reason. I did some research once I was rescued after you told me about the ACS; it took me a long while, but I was able to uncover that the module was manually set to a crash course in Russia. Also, I've noticed that there has been a bit of an excess of materials shipped from America to foreign countries._

_ "I didn't think much of it; not at first, that is. Then I realized that General Shepherd was the commanding officer of the marines and about one hundred soldiers for his own private use, not including the One-Four-One."_

_ "Shadow Company," Soap said._

_ "Precisely," Price replied. "Even then Shadow Company was brutal and ruthless, known for their atrocities as much as their battles won. The leaders of the world made mistakes in the past, but I doubt that President Obama would have made such a mistake as to allow Shepherd to retain such a horrible force, at least not at the size he wished. Hence the nuclear warhead that killed the marines in Saudi Arabia five years ago. I did some research which could have gotten me locked up in another cell in America and uncovered that in several isolated places in America, particularly the far west of Alaska and swamps in Florida have been places of material transportation to foreign countries. Of course, I use the word 'foreign' loosely as we are foreign to America._

_ "This was the most disturbing part. The materials were transported to Patropavlovsk and the capital of Saudi Arabia, two places that were seemingly random and bore no possible relation to America. I was extremely interested in the exchange of materials and dove further in to figure out who these materials were going to and what the materials were in the first place. The crates were weapons caches, ammunition, armor, and several hundred kilos of nuclear warheads, all being transported to our old acquaintances, Khaled Al-Asad and Imran Zakhaev._

_ "I also saw an old transmission that was recorded the very moment the marines were leaving the city. This particular conversation was between our two newest enemies, General Shepherd and Vladimir Makarov. I always assumed that Zakhaev was the source of the nuclear warhead, but never delved deeper to see if the warhead was actually of Russian origin. Nay, it was all Shepherd's doing; he sent the warhead to Zakhaev, who in turn handed it to Makarov and Al-Asad who placed it in the city. As soon as that warhead detonated, the loss of thirty thousand marines removed a thorn in Shepherd's side, allowing him to ask the President for a new, elite force: Shadow Company._

_ "I always wondered why I was truly being kept in the Gulag rather than killed. Back in Chernobyl in Operation Kingfish, you were ordered to leave the area immediately rather than wait for me to get on board, despite the fact that the Rangers, Marines, SEALs, the US Military, and every individual American detachment of ground forces have a strict rule to never leave a man behind, yet you were ordered to leave me in Russia. I did see Makarov when I was locked in the Gulag, but he only came to give me ferocious beatings, making sure to keep me alive despite the fact that he hated us for killing Zakhaev._

_ "In truth, it was Shepherd who wanted me alive. I don't know why he decided to lock me up without killing me; perhaps he was just waiting to confront me directly or he had some other plans for me, I don't know. What I do know is that this whole time, we've been fooled by Shepherd. This plot goes back for years and no one was smart enough to realize that the Shepherd's been working with our enemies this whole time."_

_ "This is insanity," Nikolai said. "Yet, everything that you said makes sense. Perhaps not all of it, but without a doubt, Shepherd was never our ally. We were simply pawns in his own game."_

_ "That's perfect," Soap said. "We've got one good UMP and they've got a thousand. We don't even know if Makarov's intel is any good." It was a sobering realization that left Price to stand their quietly, his mind hard at work. "Price, what are we going to do now?" He did not respond. "Price," Soap said, but once again, he did not say anything. "Price?" _

_ "The healthy human mind doesn't wake up in the morning thinking that this is its last day on earth," Price said. "But I think that's a luxury, not a curse. Knowing that you're closer to the end is a kind of freedom. It's a good time to take . . . inventory. Outgunned. Outmanned. Out of our minds and on a suicide mission. But yet the sand and rocks here are stained with a thousand years of warfare. They will remember us for this, because, out of all of our vast array of nightmares this is the one we choose for ourselves. We walk forward like a single breathe exhaled from the earth. With vigor in our hearts we know with utmost certainty of our mission: We. Will. Kill him." _

_ He walked to the back of the control center and pulled open a cabinet, filled with weapons and equipment. He laid them on the table for the three of them observe. Two pairs of night vision goggles. A suppressed Vector SMG with an attached grip and ACOG sight. A suppressed ACR. Two suppressed Intervention Sniper Rifles with variable zoom capabilities. Price's own Colt M1911 and Soap's M9 pistol. Nine Flashbangs. Eight fragmentation grenades. Soap's Combat Knife. These were weapons that they were going to use to their fullest extent. No matter what, they would kill General Shepherd. Nikolai confirmed that there was an abandoned Little Bird in the hangar bay that was still fully functional. It was time to confront Shepherd and end this. Once and for all._

"Call when you're ready," Nikolai told them in their radio channels. "I can pick you up ETA three hours.

"Don't bother," Price replied. "This was a one-way flight, mate." Nikolai sounded like he was going to protest, but said nothing.

"Well," Nikolai sighed. "Good luck to you." He muttered something in Russian and cut the link, his Little Bird flying off into the desert. Soap peered out from the cover of the sheet covering his body as he lay flat on the sand. Ahead, there was an irregular bulge on the surface of the desert. An arm shot out from the side, holding up a hand in front of Soap. The arm slid back in and the bulge began to crawl across the sand.

Soap followed Price's lead as they used the sheets both for cover from watchful eyes and to protect their eyes from the sandstorm whirling around them. When the storm began to light down, they stood up and abandoned the sheets to the sand, walking down the dunes and hills. They came across an old ditch, which upon further inspection proved to be a dried ravine.

They followed the ravine further up and over the dunes. At the last dune, they crawled over and were met with the sight of a large canyon. At the other side of the canyon was a stone dam constructed by the Americans: Hotel Site Bravo. On their side of the canyon was a highway. Two armored vehicles sat parked in the middle of the highway, five Shadow Company soldiers standing in the middle of the street along with a German Shepherd.

"Well, it looks like Makarov's intel was solid," Soap observed.

"Aye, that it is," Price replied. "If his intel proves to be half useful, then it should also indicate that Shepherd is somewhere in that mess of a base. How we're going to get inside is a whole new prospect, however."

"When those men split up-at least, if they split up-we can take them out quietly and hopefully rappel down the side of the mountain or try to find another entrance."

"And if they don't split?"

"Then we take . . . unconventional measures." Price nodded and they waited patiently for the soldiers to disperse. When they began to think that they wouldn't, two of the men walked off further down the road, leaving three soldiers and the dog to deal with. Price aimed his Intervention at two of the soldiers while Soap took aim at the third man and the dog.

"Three, two, one, mark," Price said, and they fired their snipers. Price's shot went through the heads of both of his targets, while Soap had to take two shots for the man and the dog. They slid down the dune and onto the highway below. Stalking the two soldiers on the highway, they aimed their snipers and dropped the soldiers soundlessly.

As soon as they did so, they ran to the railing of the mountain and looked down. About one kilometer down was the bottom of the canyon, though there was an irregular overhang below that suggested a cave. They hooked their rappel lines to the railing and rappelled down the mountain to the cave. Two soldiers from Shadow Company stood underneath the overhand, oblivious to their presence above them.

Their guns were strapped to their backs, their combat knives drawn. They slid down slowly and silently. By an unspoken command, the two grabbed the mouths of the soldiers and plunged the knives into their throats. As the man Soap stabbed struggled, he glared at Soap with two hard, blue eyes. He tried to scream but he gurgled through his mask and underneath the leather covering the lower half of his face, Soap could feel through his heavy gloves a sticky, hot wetness underneath. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground.

He and Price slid the rest of the way down and disengaged their rappelling lines. Taking out his ACR and Soap taking out his Vector, they advanced into the cave. Inside, a man standing in front of a security television stood with his back to them. Price was about to kill the man, but dove to the left instead when he noticed an enemy patrol rounding the corner. Soap followed him and the two hid behind crates off ammunition in a small alcove.

The soldiers approached the man at the security television and talked to him.

"Kilo 5-1 isn't reporting back, can you see anything?" One of the men asked him.

"Beats me, sir," he replied. "There are no cameras in that sector so I wouldn't know myself. It's probably the sandstorm rolling in or a bad transmitter."

"Well we're going to check it out," the man said. "Call in if you see anything." He nodded and returned his view to the television as the squadron left the cave. Soap stalked forward and dispatched the man at the camera with his combat knife. Price motioned for Soap to follow him and they continued further into the cave.

They maneuvered around the men inside, narrowly dodging their eyes and ears as they continued deeper into Hotel Sight Bravo. Two soldiers began walking down a staircase, but were once again dispatched as the two of them killed the soldiers. Price killed the man at the top of the stairs, and then moved into a large cavern.

Deploying their night vision goggles, they advanced inside of the cave. Suddenly, enemy radio transmissions could be heard in their own radios.

"BREACHING, BREACHING!" A man from Shadow Company yelled. The entire rear of the cavern blew to pieces and soldiers walked inside, aiming their weapons around the cave.

"Go loud!" Price yelled and they aimed their weapons at the incoming soldiers, firing suppressed bullets into their bodies. They crumpled to the ground as the bullets sank into their bodies. The gunfight lasted only a few brief moments before they ran outside of the gaping hole in the wall. Price noticed riot shields lying on the rock wall. He pointed and Soap nodded, taking one of the shields. They didn't understand what was going on, but they were catching conversations from enemy radio.

"Sir, Kilo 5-1 just flatlined!" The man who led the squad out of the cave reported. "There was no one in that sector and I don't know what's-"

"It's Price," an older voice said: it was Shepherd. "I want them dead, soldier. Do anything you can to kill them now!"

"Yes sir!" The man replied. Soap ran up on the walkway with his riot shield while Price held back, taking aim with his Intervention.

"Avatar 2-1, we have unknown bogeys on the walkway!" Suddenly, ten soldiers appeared on the other side of the walkway ahead, shooting at Soap with all of the ammunition they had. The bullets impacting on the surface forced Soap backward, but only momentarily. He forced himself to continue onward, the bullets hitting the riot shield with the force of a bull. Price, however, had the area thoroughly covered, killing the soldiers just before Soap reached them.

Abandoning the riot shield, he motioned for Price to follow him. He nodded and sprinted up the walkway with Soap as they ran forward into the base. A helicopter dropped off more soldiers as they continued on, but they were no match for Soap and Price-they were prepared for everything that Shepherd might throw at them, or rather, _shoot_ at them. Hiding behind crates, they used frag grenades to flush out the men with riot shields and used their own ingenuity to take care of the soldiers around them.

More troops flushed into the area, however, forcing Soap to take drastic measures. At the end of the cave was a fuel canister positioned just right so that if it were to implode, the men around it would be destroyed with the force of the explosion. Reloading his Vector, he took aim and fired at the fuel canister. It exploded in a ball of fire and caused part of the ceiling to collapse. Those who were not immediately killed by the explosion were buried under the rubble.

Price approved of Soap's actions and they continued on. In the next cave, smoke grenades were detonated, covering the attacking approach of Shadow Company. Using their night vision goggles, they were able to dig out most of the troops, but Soap was forced to circle around and throw frag grenades at the men as they took fire from Price. Soap called the all-clear and they rushed down the next hall towards a recently slammed door.

Price shot the hinges-they had not thought to bring a wall charge with them-and Soap kicked in the door. They fired at the men inside and cut them all down. There were several crates full of C4 explosives inside of the room as well as multiple terminals and computers inside. Price threw Soap a flash drive that of which he plugged into the main terminal and began to upload the door controls and download the information stored inside for their own use.

"Shadow Company is this Gold Eagle," Shepherd said over the intercom throughout the base. "I'm detonating the base in thirty seconds. If you're still inside, your service will be honored. Shepherd out." With increased urgency, they finished the loading process and the doors at the back of the base opened. Soap ejected the flash drive and stuffed it in his pocket, clipping it shut. They rushed outside and behind them, the base exploded. Soap was knocked flat on his stomach, covering his ears as the explosion roared around them.

He forced himself to his feet and saw a weapons depot in front of them. At the end of the depot were several soldiers. In the middle of their group was General Shepherd.

"Dagger 1, bring in danger close air support on the weapons depot, over!" Shepherd ordered.

"That's within one hundred meters of you, sir!" The pilot protested.

"ON THE DOUBLE, PILOT!" Shepherd snarled. He complied and a Little Bird entered the area. "Take care of them while we get to the Zodiacs!" Price forced himself to his feet and grabbed Soap by his arm, yelling at him to move.

They ran back to the destroyed base as the Little Bird fired missiles at them. The depot exploded in a massive ball of flame and killed the soldiers inside of it. The Little Bird flew off and General Shepherd and his men ran off deeper into the caves.

"Shepherd said something about Zodiacs," Price said. "There must be water access nearby. Come on, we can't let him get away now!" Soap nodded and followed Price as they sprinted through the burning depot, cutting down the few soldiers that remained of the Shadow Company opposition. They ran forward to catch Shepherd, but realized he ran into a dark cave.

"Let's finish this," Soap growled. Price nodded and together, they sprinted into the cave and to their fate.

**I felt bad about giving you guys such a short chapter last time, and I also wanted to add more of an in-depth part of the storyline of Modern Warfare 2 to try and help you guys make more sense of Shepherd's deception. As a disclaimer, it was never confirmed by anyone or anything that that was his exact plan and all of it was because of him, this all just came from the top of my head to try and make Shepherd's betrayal seem more tangible and make more sense. Who else is insanely excited that there's only one more chapter and my own short epilogue before MW3? **

**Also, I'd like to acknowledge the people that died on the cruise that crashed on something and half-sank into the ocean. They did not deserve to die on a trip of a life time like that, and I have to say this: whoever the sorry-ass Captain of that ship is who decided to abandon ship and leave his crew members and passengers to die while he got to safety, he better expect to get seriously fucked up in the future. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter and the rest of this story!**

**-WOLF OUT **


	20. Ch 19: End Game

"End Game"

Day 7 – 18:10:29, 2016

CPT John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141

Site Hotel Bravo, Afghanistan

_/Begin Transmission/_

_/Broadcast Radius-World Wide/_

_/Subject Confirmed: Captain John Price/Captain John MacTavish/_

_/Decrypting/_

_/This is for the record./_

_/History is written by the victor./_

_/History is also filled with liars. If he lives and we die, his truth becomes written, and ours is lost./ _

_/Shepherd will be a hero because all you need to change the world is one good lie and a river of blood./_

_/He's about to complete the biggest trick a liar ever pulled in human history. That is, only if he lives, and we die./_

_/End Transmission/_

"Come on, Soap, get on the boat!" Price screamed. Soap complied and they ran onto the dock just as the first Zodiac shot off down the river as it flowed down the cave. Soap leaped into the Zodiac, drawing a G18 that was lying on the bottom of the boat. Starting its engines, Price sat in the front with his ACR-now unsuppressed-and they shot down the river.

Water sprayed on the sides of their small, rocket-fast Zodiac. Shadow Company was entrenched in the rocks of the caves, firing down on them as they made their harried pursuit to catch Shepherd before he escaped their grasp. RPGs fired from above impacted on the river and forced their Zodiac to fly into the air and smash into the river, water flying everywhere, drenching them as the droplets fell around them like a maelstrom. It reminded Soap of the Estonian freighter they sank five years ago. The soldiers continued to pour into the area, firing at them every step of the way.

For Price, it was difficult to fire at the troops accurately as the Zodiac jolted upward and to the sides as they sped through the waves of the river. Soap did his best to assist Price when he could, but it was more vital that he stay focused on driving the boat to catch Shepherd. They entered a small cave covered with pipes and valves along the walls and roof of the cave. Getting an idea, Soap raised the G18 and fired the full-automatic pistol at the pipes. As he expected, they were pressured and filled with gasoline. Pipes exploded and the cave cracked. Spider web crevices and cracks appeared in the cave, the ceiling collapsing on top of the men inside. The screams of pain and terror enveloped it as men began to jump into the water, but their salvation was in vain-the mountain itself collapsed on top of them, crushing even those in the water.

Cars and armored vehicles sped into the area and fired heavy machine guns and M4A1 and SCAR-H gunfire into the area. They managed to dodge the vast majority of the gunfire, but they came into many close calls where they nearly died from the gunfire. Shepherd's men fired at them from the boat as well, but Shepherd was also directing them where to go. Whatever he was doing, it was crazy and extremely cunning and downright insane. Their Zodiac flew inside of a narrow, darkened cave.

Soap maneuvered the Zodiac to follow them through the cave. At the far end, there was a bright white speck that showed them that it opened up into a new area. They fired at Shepherd's Zodiac, Price felling two of the soldiers on it. Unfortunately, Shepherd was still very much alive. Price continued firing until he was forced to reload his ACR. As they shot out of the opening, the bright yellow sunlight was temporarily blinding Soap as they flew out of the tunnel.

Suddenly, a Little Bird flew over the mountain behind them and flew ahead of them, twisting backward to aim its machine guns at them. Soap jerked the wheel around and the Zodiac flew to the left, flying through columns, pillars, and random rocks lying in the large river. The Little Bird fired its machine guns at them, but the bullets only smashed into the rocks, firing rubble and dust in all directions. Some bullets flew into the water around them as well, but they dodged it narrowly.

Soldiers on the bridges ahead fired RPGs at them and, causing the ones that impacted on the water shot them high into the air. One of them forced their Zodiac to fly over the bridge, the propeller on the bottom, clipping one of the soldiers and killing him.

"Dodge that Little Bird before his guns spin up!" Price shouted. Soap nodded and swerved the boat as it fired at them. Then, Shepherd decided to take a truly daring move: rather than take one of the adjacent rivers, he continued down into the rapids. "Hold on, this is going to be rough!" Soap tightened his grip on the wheel and dropped the G18, clutching the Zodiac. They flew over the rocks and smashed into the rapids.

Water sprayed around them, droplets falling into Soap's eyes as he tried to remain focused on Shepherd's Zodiac ahead of them. It was hard enough to maneuver the rapids as the river tossed them around viciously, but doing it blinded was even more difficult.

"Gold Eagle, this is Sierra Foxtrot!" A pilot of a Black Hawk screamed overhead. "We have you in sight and are ready to extract you!"

"Roger that, Sierra Foxtrot!" Shepherd replied. "On the double, they're almost on us!"

"Sir, yes sir!" He replied. The Black Hawk flew ahead and Soap and Price continued to chase Shepherd, hoping to get a lucky shot at him. They rounded a bend-and saw Shepherd's Zodiac fly into the Black Hawk's rear hatch.

"NO!" Price screamed. Soap shot forward further down the river and Price fired more shots at the Black Hawk. Finally, he ran out of ammunition and took out his Intervention. "Soap, keep her steady!" Price was frantic as Soap began to keep it in reverse, fighting against the current. They fell down a small ledge and once again, Price yelled to steady the Zodiac. The Black Hawk turned on them and aimed its guns and missiles at their position-then Price fired one last bullet, impacting the tail rudder and causing a chain reaction of small explosions, causing the Black Hawk to fall down to the surface far below.

"Back up, back up!" Price yelled. Soap did as he was told, but the current was too strong and their Zodiac wasn't built for rapids. They edged closer to waterfall's edge, watching as the Black Hawk spiraled down below. Then, the Zodiac fell down into a large pool of water below, and everything went black for Soap.

**Five Minutes Later**

Soap opened his eyes and found himself lying flat on his back on the shoreline of the pool. He coughed up water and turned himself over, throwing up more below him. He stared around but his vision was blurry, so he could not see his weapons. His knife was still in its sheathe, though, so he drew it and continued forward. Price was nowhere to be seen.

_No_, Soap thought. _Not again. Don't let him be dead!_ No matter how much he searched, even in the water, he could not find Price. He came to the horrifying and sickening conclusion that Soap didn't survive the fall. He fell to the ground, clutching at his heart as he wept. Then, his eyes clouded with anger and he picked up the knife. If Shepherd was still alive, he was going to make him pay for what he'd done. He stumbled as he walked stalked forward, keen on finding and killing General Shepherd.

He saw a shimmering light in the distance and he realized that it was the Black Hawk's wreckage. A man was crawling away, blood pouring from his wounds. Soap stabbed him and continued on. Another soldier lied on the ground near the cockpit, aiming a pistol at him. He pulled the trigger, but it was out of ammunition. With a malicious, devious smile, he stabbed the man in the chest, killing him.

Then, a man climbed out of the wreckage and looked at Soap. It was Shepherd. With all of his strength, Soap ran up to him, but he stumbled, dizzy. He threw up again, but forced himself to his feet as he followed Shepherd. There was a large, rusted structure in the distance. An old car sat outside of the building, where Shepherd slumped over, exhausted.

_Now_, Soap thought. _KILL HIM NOW!_ He drew the knife and made a lunge. Then, a light appeared in Shepherd's eyes and he caught Soap's arm in mid-swing. With his other hand, he punched him in the face and slammed his head into the roof of the car, kicking him to the ground. The knife flew away, out of Soap's reach. Shepherd pulled out a dagger and stared down at him with cold eyes.

"You know what they say about revenge, don't you?" Shepherd asked. When Soap didn't respond, he plunged the knife into his chest. Soap screamed in agony, as he bent over towards his face. "You don't, do you? The saying goes, 'You'd better dig two graves.'" He pulled out his .44 Magnum Revolver, loading it with new bullets.

"Five years ago, I lost thirty thousand men in the blink of an eye," Shepherd said. "And you know what the world did? It just fuckin' watched."

"You're lying," Soap groaned. "We know what you did."

"Oh, do you now?" Shepherd asked, an evil grin forming on his lips. "Well, then, I guess I no longer have to pull this ruse. The world is an ignorant place, you know. People will believe anything nowadays, and this was finally my chance to show the world what we're capable of. World War Three will be the greatest conflict in the history of man. Of course, America will become victorious over all countries. I admit, the alliance with China, Japan, and England was extremely surprising, though it helped in every way possible.

"And that old fool of a Commander who couldn't get into the base in Cheyenne Mountain? He was not easy enough to manipulate, which is why I hired my men to finish him off while I locked down the base. The new one is younger and more susceptible to my command and clings to my every word. Changes are difficult, but when I unite the nations of the world-that is, if they survive the war-I will be a most humbling ruler of the new world Empire. This will be a new world, and it will all be shaped in my mind."

Soap glared at him. "You're insane," he growled. He only smiled and continued.

"Am I, MacTavish? This would mean an end to all wars, a time of endless peace and prosperity under my rule as supreme Emperor of the united people of Earth. Tomorrow, there will be no shortage of patriots, no shortage of volunteers," he aimed the pistol at Soap's face. "I know you understand." Then, a large figure crashed into Shepherd, the bullet firing into the air. The gun skidded across the hard surface and Soap saw Price attack Shepherd in a vicious assault. Soap crawled over to the gun and managed to get his hand around the barrel, but then Price fell to the ground in front of him. Shepherd kicked the gun away, and then smashed the heel of his boot into Soap's face.

Soap drifted in and out of consciousness, watching Shepherd and Price battle in the dusty arena as the sandstorm increased in strength.

In, and out.

Price was winning, dealing a severe blow to Shepherd's jaw. He heard and audible crack and Shepherd lunged for Price.

In, and out.

Shepherd smashed his shin into Price's groin. Price groaned in pain and Shepherd attacked him once more.

In, and out.

Shepherd continued to punch Price as he laid bleeding on the ground. Soap looked at the dagger embedded in his chest. With an effort of will and strength, he grasped the handle. It was the most difficult, painful thing Soap had ever been through. His vision turned red and he tasted blood. He put another hand on the hilt and began to draw it from his chest, growling with pain. His vision was blotted with blood and his mind began to ebb into darkness.

The dagger flew out, causing Soap to cry out in pain. Shepherd did not notice it, and Soap twirled the dagger in his fingers. He saw Shepherd on top of Price, continuing to punch his already unconscious friend. Boiling with anger, Soap aimed the knife at just the right angle so that there was no possible way that Price would be hit or Shepherd escaping.

"SHEPHERD!" Soap screamed. He looked up for a moment and saw Soap. At first, a look of confusion passed across his face. Then, Soap threw the dagger-and the blade sank into his face. Blood flew in the air and his body jerked backward. He fell back as blood spewed from the wound. Soap fell back. He had killed Shepherd. Their truth was written, and his was lost. He couldn't explain why he still felt like he failed, though. He faded into darkness once more, this time, however, he did not wake up.

**Several Hours Later**

****Cue up end credit music and listen to the epic music while reading this!****

Soap pried open his eyes and saw Price crouched over him, wrapping gauze and bandages around Soap's wound. Soap looked up at him and tried to say something but no words came out of his mouth. Price glanced at him in worry and asked him something, but Soap could hardly hear him.

"Are you alright?" Price asked repeatedly. Soap began to hear him correctly and tried to nod, but his chest hurt so much that he could hardly move his body at all.

"Y-yes," he breathed weakly. Price nodded and continued bandaging his wounds. Soap could hear the sound of propellers and could see the dust of the sandstorm shifting. Price noticed the change as well and looked behind him to see a Little Bird landing behind them.

"Come on, it'll hold for now," Price said, helping Soap to his feet. Soap slumped down and Price had to catch him while they walked forward towards the Little Bird. "I thought I told you this was a one-way trip!" Price called.

"Well it looks like it still is," Nikolai replied. "They'll be looking for us, you know." Soap stumbled again and Nikolai ran to his other side, helping Price carry him to the Little Bird.

"Nikolai, we've got to get Soap out of here," Price said.

"Da," Nikolai replied. "I know a place."

**Well, that concludes my second story! I decided against the epilogue I had in mind both because I couldn't think of how it would fit in the storyline and I would much rather start on the third story. Everyone, PLEASE leave a review! I want to know how I did on this story! Also, tell me what I can do better for the third story and if it's not too much trouble, please try to leave reviews more often! I never really know how I'm doing unless I say I'm not going to update until I get a certain number of reviews, and I'd definitely like to hear your input more often! Anyhow, make sure to review this story as I get started on the final story, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3!**

**-WOLF OUT**


End file.
